


Withered Rose, Rising Witch

by AC_107



Category: RWBY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 31,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15346461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AC_107/pseuds/AC_107
Summary: Just a few connected dark short stories, ideas for a much bigger fan fiction that is unlikely to see the light of day.





	1. Chapter 1

Clouds encircled the luminous fractured moon in the night sky as Grimm encircled a single solitary figure wrapped in a cloak of the purest white. The cold wind of the dark mountains that she traveled through pulled at it as if shrieking at the woman to turn back in the place of her now silent sense of self preservation. However, even if she was willing to consider turning back from her dark journey, Summer knew that she'd would have to carve through more Grimm than she'd ever faced.  
To most sane people of Remnant, even those she held dear, it looked like Summer Rose was looking for her death, but she had come to this dark place in order to save the life of the person she would trade the world for. She had come seek the only possible power left that could be convinced to save her daughter. And judging by the actions of the Grimm around her, as they did nothing but watch from the nearby shadows around with their hungering red eyes, made Summer certain she was getting close.  
That very same moon gazed upon a pair of siblings fighting their way through the monsters that had closed in over Summer's trail of desperate destruction. One was fighting to keep her brother from killing himself and to help get Summer back. The other was almost completely caught between his desperation to catch Summer, and his own self loathing.   
It was all his fault. Qrow knew what his semblance was capable of and had known deep down that he couldn't control it and yet he had fooled himself into thinking that it could be suppressed or something like that. Instead, his misfortune had shattered his team and almost destroyed the woman he loved, and if he couldn't cut through the damned endless tide of Grimm, something worse would finish the job.  
As the last beowolf fell, Qrow felt something grab his arm. He whirled around, his scythe ready to rip apart the next enemy, but instead it was his sister, Raven.  
“Qrow! Get a hold of yourself, this is insane. Why would Summer even have come up this way?”   
Qrow shook off Raven's hand. “Her trail led this way Raven.”  
“And it's gone. There's no point in going deeper into this Grimm infested area.”  
“Then go back to where ever those people are, I'll go alone.” Qrow began trudging ahead, in the general direction of where the old ruins of a lost kingdom were rumored to be.   
“By all rights I should, but whatever else you are Qrow, you're still my brother.”  
Normally Qrow would be amazed by one of Raven's few moments of bonding, but instead he found himself thinking of the two girls that Taiyang was watching over, no doubt telling them that their mother would be back.   
“If only you could give as much of a damn about the other two people who should matter as much if not more.” Qrow commented bitterly.  
“What?” Raven snarled. “That's none of your concern and even if it was, it's rich coming from you! Care to remind me why we're in this mess?”  
“You know that's not fair!” Qrow snapped, turning back to face his sister angrily.  
“Welcome to the rest of the world, so glad you could join us!” She retorted, her red eyes glaring at him like an enraged Grimm “Tell you what, Qrow, after we find Summer, dead or alive, we're done. No more favors, nothing.”  
Qrow turned away angrily. “Fine by me.”  
There was a minute of silence, broken only by the light crunch of the snow beneath their boots before Raven spoke up again. “While you're risking my life, do you mind telling me why exactly you came grovelling to me smelling like alcohol? What happened?”  
Qrow hesitated for a moment before continuing. “You know what happened.”  
“Yes I'm aware of the “accident”. What happened after that? This feels like something almost completely different. Besides there's no way that incident between you and Summer could have left you looking as half-dead as you do.”  
Qrow rubbed his tired eyes, finding his growing craving for booze almost difficult to stomach but at the same time needed to drown out his guilt. “...It's not as different as you might think. You know about her daughter, Ruby.” Bringing up the subject of that little girl only made his throat drier but he forced himself to continue both his pace up the path and the story. “She was born too early... and she has a weak body, the doctors said Ruby wouldn't live out her first year. Summer did everything she could and went to any doctor she could for some sort of cure...”  
“Something must have worked, I mean the girl is still alive and she's what, four?”   
“She turned four two months ago, yes. But there wasn't any cure from medicine. I don't know, but Summer and Taiyang must have been finding miracles somehow. But half a year ago there was a close call that showed that they had started running out of those. Summer tried getting Ozpin to help and even convinced me to help her meet one of the Maidens...” A cold wind blew by as Qrow remembered the meeting between the desperate mother and the Maiden and a chill when up his spine, but it wasn't from the cold.   
“I think I can guess the answer she got. But what does that have to do with....” Raven trailed off as she began to consider what options Summer would have had left.  
“Yea, they couldn't do anything. It would have been bad enough if this had ended there, but Summer remembered that there's one other power in the world”   
“No way, there's no way that Summer of all people would even think of trying to look for that thing after what Ozpin told us about her.”   
“You didn't see her after we were rejected by the Maiden... It...She....Gods, I have never been scared of Summer like I was that day. I still don't know how I managed to convince her from trying to take the Maiden's power.” Qrow's throat felt as parched as the deserts that surrounded Vacuo.  
Raven was silent as Qrow's words sank in, as she was aware that a Maiden's power was only transferred on death, and easily realizing what he was saying Summer had been intent on doing.  
Qrow stumbled on a partially snow covered what at first looked like rock but was in-fact a skull.   
“We need to pick up the pace.” Raven said with a small amount of fear in her voice before she started running.   
“You took the words right out of my mouth.” Qrow muttered as he recovered and immediately began to run as well.  
Slowly but surely the black and stormy clouds above were beginning to close in on the fractured moon as Summer ascended ruined stairs covered in a thick blanket of snow which was broken by tress and bushes with empty branches and putrid, blighted, black bark. Before her was a vast open glade of white surrounded by a dead and corrupted forest crawling with Grimm with a mountaintop reaching up like a claw and covering the far side of the glade in the darkest shadows. At the entrance of the glade was a post that had the tattered remains of a black banner with a red eye symbol on it.  
As Summer took a step forward into the glade and towards the mountaintop's shadow the wind became still. In fact there was only the sound of utter and complete silence even as the white cloaked mother walked through the snow, there wasn't even a sound amidst the black and white surrounding her. The silence gave off a chill that matched cold Summer had felt hearing the dark predictions of everyone who said her daughter was doomed.  
“Wellllll. I must say it has been some time since a human has made it to meeee.” A female voice whispered through the silence, quiet yet almost impossibly loud in the cold stillness which caused Summer to frantically look around for the voice's own, instead seeing nothing but the red eyes of the encircling Grimm. She readied herself for a possible ambush, bracing herself to use the power of the silver-eyes.  
“That will be unnecessary, my dear. I've been waiting a long time for a guest and you have proven that you are such. You will not be harmed for the time being.” The voice gained in strength as Summer turned back towards the mountaintop's shadow she now saw a new light as an healthy pale violet balefire brazier ignited within the darkness, revealing steps to a dark throne. There was a barely visible figure seated upon the black throne but Summer could see a pair of blood crimson eyes, much like those of the Grimm but instead of soulless hunger there was an overwhelming strength, cruelty, malice and a will to dominate within, drawing the desperate mother closer to the shadow's embrace.   
Summer knew the being she had sought was the one before her. There were many names that Summer had read from the archives in her dark search, but only the name that Ozpin had told them suited the evil before her.  
“Salem.” She said with a shiver.  
The withered and decrepit fingers of the host that served as Salem's physical form and prison clenched the arms of her obsidian throne tightly as she heard the name that only one being, her greatest foe knew her by. “So, you must be one of Ozpin's inner circle if you know my name, young one. That leaves me at a disadvantage, for I don't know yours.” This made the human guest all the more interesting for Salem, as she could not feel any malice or greed within the white cloaked woman though she did sense the desperation and fear that swirled around her.  
“Summer Rose, and I need your help.” She answered.   
“Of course, none come before me without reason, little Rose. But tell me, Oz told you of me, which meant that he trusted you and you don't have the same sort of stench that other humans who came to me did. What would drive one such as you to me?”  
Summer clenched her fists as every fiber of her being screamed at her to flee from the evil before her, but the image of Ruby's small and pale body coughing desperately for air while her gray eyes stared at her helpless mother in terror cause Summer to keep moving forward, well into the shadow and stopping a distance from the black throne. Close enough to see some of the almost mummified figure upon it, though she still could not see Salem's upper body. Summer had come too far to turn back.  
“My daughter, I need you to save my daughter. Ozpin and the Maiden wouldn't or couldn't and-” She was cut off as Salem began to laugh.  
“This is indeed a first! There were those that sought vengeance, stature, destruction, slaughter or simply power itself, but never have any come to me seeking me to save someone.” Salem's malevolent laughter continued until Summer snapped.  
“Yes! That's why I've come! Now you know what I ask! Now tell me! Can you do it?!” Summer screamed, tears streaming from her eyes as the power of the silver flared dangerously.  
Had Salem not been aware of the little Rose's followers, or in her current state, she would have showed her guest how unwise her outburst was. But time was not on Salem's side this night, so she set aside her bristled pride for now.  
“Of course I can. But if you would have your wish, then give me mine.”  
“Any-anything.”  
“You seek life for your daughter and I wish to be free of Ozpin's trap. All that is required for our bargain is a life for a life.”  
“What? I don't- Who?” Summer stammered before Salem answered.  
“Give me your life, and I will ensure your daughter lives. The choice is yours, but you had best decide quickly for my Grimm have been unable to discourage the two unwelcome guests behind you.”  
The sounds of fighting were beginning to drift into the glade, breaking the unnatural silence that surrounded them.  
Briefly Summer hesitated and looked back at where she had come, but she quickly turned back to Salem. “What must I do?”  
The balefire spread away from its brazier towards Salem's left, illuminating a skeletal bleached white tree with a single crimson apple at the end one of its otherwise empty bone-like branches. “You just need to let me in, in a manner of speaking.”  
Qrow hacked through yet another beowolf and raced up the snow covered stairs too see Summer, the dark figure on the black throne and the bone white tree. “Summer!” He screamed and lunged forward as mass of Grimm poured out of the blighted woods around the the dead glade. Raven followed after her brother.  
As for Summer, her hesitation gone, she ascended the stairs and grasped the apple. It slipped off the branch easily as the stem crumbled into nothing. It felt cold and heavy to the touch yet irresistibly alluring.  
In between each Grimm he cut down Qrow was all but helpless to stop Summer as she brought the fruit to her lips, the black shadows closing in around her white cloak like the clouds closing around the rapidly shrinking light of the moon. All while a pair of horrible red eyes watched her intently. “Summer! Don't do it!”  
“Thank you for everything, Qrow.” Summer whispered, a single tear escaping her eye before she sealed her fate and bit into the apple.  
It tasted sweet at first but the sweetness quickly turned into a foul bitterness as it made its way down her throat before turning into a pain, gnawing, growing emptiness that sucked away all the air in Summer's lung and consumed the last memories of warmth that her body possessed. Gasping for breath, Summer dropped the apple, a dark glistening ooze covering her hand from where she had been holding it. It dissolved into a foul looking black liquid as it hit the ground as she dropped to her knees in pain, not just from the loss of air but now a feeling of agony spread throughout her body as though she was being torn apart. Her aura flashed violently, casing Summer to arch back and scream despite the lack of air.  
At long last, Salem forced the corpse of a body to move, pushing it up from its resting place, one horrid shambling step at a time, leaving decayed pieces behind as she proceeded down the steps towards the brave, if not foolish, sacrifice. As she drew closer, the ground beneath the snow and ice of the glade began to shake as the power trapped beneath awakened after its long forced hibernation.  
With a morbid grace, Salem lifted Summer's face up so she could see the sacrifice's silver eyes filled with pain and horror. Yet the witch saw something else with those two emotions, something she had learned to respect and hate to her very core, hope.  
“This will be unpleasant, my dear, but thank you for your offering.” With those words, Salem's decaying prison collapsed into dust and all hell was unleashed upon the glade as the source pool beneath the surface exploded upwards, launching a cascade of snow, chunks of frozen earth and flood of the purest black into the air in a massive monochrome vortex that quickly surrounded Summer.  
The doomed woman's body was wracked by painful spasms, each one causing her aura to flare in and out brightly like a dying light. More of the glistening black ooze began to surround the convulsing Summer and started to envelope her. The black seeped into her white cloak, quickly spreading and staining it completely. The flares of aura became more frantic as the ooze began to rise around Summer. She screamed once again and then her aura ripped itself from her body as the ooze covered her completely.  
From the outside of the vortex, Qrow and Raven dodged and weaved between relentless attacking Grimm and the violently shifting terrain as chunks of ice and frozen earth rose into the air and fell in a chaotic cacophony all around them. All the while Qrow's eyes were fixed on every last glimpse he could catch of Summer through the dark vortex that surrounded her. It was everything all his training and survival instincts could do to keep him from freezing in utter horror when he saw Summer's aura, her very soul being ripped out of her body as it was cocooned by the black ooze. It rose up the funnel of the vortex before it was caught in a web of shadow strands that burst forth from the dark chaos.  
“Damn it!” Qrow cursed and tried to get closer to the black cocoon, however almost immediately his semblance revealed how fatal the vortex would be, as an ursa unfortunately lost its footing and was swept into the dark currents and was torn apart.  
Within the storm's center, the balefire spread out and up the currents of unnatural wind like a serpent of flame ascending a burning rotten tree trunk painting the scene in a nightmarish light and showing the two humans present a terrifying glimpse of Salem's power.  
Summer's was now a bright but fading silhouette of the woman being consumed, and each part that was trapped by the shadow webs began to turn black as Salem began to consume her sacrifice. Summer's soul struggled and writhed to return to her body but it only made the corruption and consumption spread faster until almost the entirety of the woman's former being was a blackened shadow with the last shreds of light and good at its core.   
At last the ritual reached its horrid and accursed conclusion as Salem let the webbing dissolve and allowed the last fading light of the woman's life to drop with a final painful scream .  
Qrow could only watch as that hopeful life flickered and died right before a monstrous spider-like shadow with a cavernous maw leaped down upon its ashes and onto the black cocoon, dispelling the vortex with an immense explosion of dark energy and clouds, blasting both the Branwens back and stilling the destroyed glade.  
Raven was the one to pull Qrow to his feet in the aftermath, and forced his scythe into his numb hands, getting him to cover her back as they braced for the next attack.   
Yet none came. Instead the dark clouds rapidly faded away, revealing the destruction the had been unleashed. The glade was well and truly dead, every last tree around had been felled by the explosion and all the Grimm had been swept up in the vortex. Instead there was only one other figure amidst the newly formed watseland.  
“Summer...” Qrow whispered, a last shred of insane hope just waiting to be butchered.  
Her face certainly had Summer's features, but now her pale skin had become a truly deathly pallor and her hair had turned nearly as white. Her clothes, especially her iconic white cloak were now jet black. At the sound of Qrow's prayer, deep red and purple veins crept up the side of the woman's face and a black diamond-shaped marking formed at the center of her forehead. Then she opened her eyes, revealing the monster in a woman's clothing with glowing red irises amidst jet black sclerae.  
“You are quite wrong, I'm afraid.” Salem said with Summer's lips  
Raven raised her sword at the released evil. “You don't scare me, monster. Summer could never beat me and you certainly wont. Qrow, either help me or get-” She never got a chance to finish her sentence as within the blink of an eye Raven was on her knees, the broken blade of her sword pinning her hands down to the ground. Meanwhile Qrow's own scythe was at his neck as Salem gently raised his head to look her in the eyes.  
“She had so much faith in you. Surprising, considering her memories of you, Qrow.” Salem smirked at the broken man before her, musing over the memories left by Summer. “Now I have a deal to honor. I'll let you two live, all I ask for in return is for you to give dear Ozpin my regards.” With those final words, Salem vanished from the mountain that had been her prison, leaving the twins alone in the wasteland.  
The witch quickly reached the island of Patch. It was dangerous, but in the dark of night, Salem had all the confidence that her presence would go unnoticed. She wasn't bound by any oath or magic to save the child, but the sheer ease of the request was far too tempting. Besides, from Summer's memories, Ruby had inherited the Silver eyes, thus the possibility of twisting them to her own ends was quite promising. And if not, Salem lost nothing but time, of which she had a infinite amount.  
The woods fell silent as she walked up to the wooden house and opened the door. It was quite convenient that she had a key. She entered the house, her red eyes going over the quaint dwelling. She easily found the three other inhabitants of the house. Taiyang passed out on one of the beds, with Yang sleeping on his lap. As for Salem's target, she was surprised to see little Ruby's scared, confused and curious silver eyes meeting her own.   
The infant was utterly confounded by the appearance of the woman that looked like mother, but instead of full of warmth and life was dark and scary. Ruby had woken from one bad dream and found herself looking at a nightmare even though she didn't know it.  
A weak, scared cough nearly escaped the infant's lung, but it was silenced by Salem's finger on Ruby's lip.  
“Hush, little one, hush. I'm about to make it all better.” Salem pulled back her hands and ran a black claw that had once been a human nail across her palm, drawing blood and in that blood, power. She carefully put a single drop of her blood on her finger as the rest returned to its source. Slowly she brought the seed towards the little girl's mouth and with as gently as she could forced Ruby to swallow the blood drop. “There, now you'll live and grow. With those eyes of yours, young one, I have little doubt we'll meet again. Until then little Rose, you'll only see me in your nightmares.” And so, Salem's visit to Ruby became a forgotten dream, and Summer's wish granted, but at the greatest of costs. 

Author's bit: Alright, so just explain the context of this short story, this is my personal theory regarding Salem, and by extension, Ozpin. I don't think that Salem is a corrupted maiden or just Summer falling into a Source Pool, but rather she and Ozpin might sort of representatives of the two gods who created Remnant. Certainly, the gods bailed on the world, but I highly doubt the two of them trusted the each other enough not to screw with the whole free choice thing for humanity. As such, Salem and Oz were left behind to in a way continue their struggle, although in a much more grounded sense. I expect Salem and Oz were bound with rules so as to use what was available and not start going insane with creating stuff to beat each other into the ground. So they bounded with humans, sort of like spiritual parasites, only Ozpin was a lot more benign, using his knowledge to help his host where as Salem would consume and control her host. In short they're kinda like sentient versions of the Maiden powers, except way stronger. Anyways I imagine that at some point Ozpin got the upper hand and beat Salem, but of course being a goody two shoes, didn't finish the job and instead trapped her in the corpse of her last host, Grimm but it fits the tone. As for why, same reason that Batman never kills the Joker, the whole unstoppable force meets unmovable object thing. As for the whole Ruby being sick thing, she does look rather pale considering the climate, but honestly it's the only way I could see Summer “becoming” Salem. I am a big fan of that theory, but considering what little we know about Ruby's mother, I get the feeling it would take something massive to drive her into the darkness, and what else than her child's life to get Supermom to join the dark side. Road to hell and all that food for thought. Also, yes I am a fan of the theory of Qrow being Ruby's dad, it makes sense to me because I see more resemblance between her and Qrow than her and Taiyang, but ultimately I made it a point to be as vague as I could when writing details in that area. To each their own, we'll just have to wait for the next RWBY feels bombshell to make us question life again.  
Random fanboy fanatic rambling out of the way, I hope you enjoyed the read. Let know what you think.   
AC-107


	2. Don't Look

“Why is that thing still there? Isn't it dead, or something?” This wasn't the first time that Joe Dohn had been asked this question and while he was somewhat curious himself, he was kinda getting real sick of it, especially because no one knew the damn answer, and if anyone did, they weren't telling people.  
“Hell if I know. It's there, so are the Grimm, that's all that matters.”   
“That and the dust, if your Huntsman contact was right.” Answered the red haired airship driver who had asked the question.  
“Robin, have I ever let you down before? Besides, it's the ruins of a damned battle academy for crying out loud. Only an army armory will have more.”  
“Do you really want me to answer that? But I'll give you the one point about it being Beacon.” She replied.  
“Oh ye of little faith. Just get us on the ground”   
The small airship landed well on the outskirts of the ruins of Beacon, far enough that ideally the Grimm wouldn't notice it, going by the info Joe's contact had fed them.  
The group of courageous entrepreneurs were, not counting the Huntsman contact, five in all, people both Joe and Robin had picked up with the promise of easy money, reasonable risk and no questions asked.  
There was Red Coat, an ex White Fang member with a nack for weapons, so he was in charge of discouraging any small Grimm that came between them and the dust. The big guy had given a sort of bogus name, so everyone else just named him after the bright red shirt he wore.   
Clarke, a more scrawny looking blonde, was a wiz at cracking electronic codes and the like, also knew how to keep himself alive in a scrap. So he was going to take care of any tech problems that came up, unlikely considering the state of Beacon but didn't hurt.  
Finally there was a career burglar by the name of Jack, who prime job was to handle obstacles like good old fashioned locks and such.  
“Alright, keep a low profile until we get to the hunter forward camp, right?” Jack asked.  
“Yep, then we hook up with Charon, go grab the dust, get out dodge and proceed straight to profit.” Joe answered as the airship's doors opened, and the five went out into the dark and quiet spring forest. There was an unnerving quiet, even for a nighttime wilderness. Flashlights attached to the weapons of four of the group swept the eerie woods cautiously as they advanced, much to Red Coat's disproval.  
“Excuse us for not having night vision.” Robin replied to the faunus' grunt.   
“So.... Think we'll see anything of what they used to train those two... freaks?” Clarke asked, breaking up the silence.  
“What freaks?” Joe asked for clarity's sake, as he had a feeling that the world was filling up with people best called that.  
“You know, the chick who broke that guy's leg out of no where in the tournament, Yang what's-her-face, and the one who tore that robot person apart, Pyrrha Nikos. They were both Beacon students after all.”   
“Good gods, are you trying to bring the Grimm down on us?! Bringing up those monsters that caused the Grimm to attack Beacon like they did, on top of mentioning the dead!” Robin hissed nervously.  
“Shut it you two.” Joe growled. “I'd rather we wonder how we pulled this off back in a bar in Vale, or rather Vacuo than any of the other alternatives that come to mind right now.”  
Despite the early attempts to jinx their luck, the makeshift expedition made it to the hunter forward camp with no trouble.  
Yet that was where the good news ended. It was a lot more quiet and dark at the forward encampment than it should have been, considering the circumstances. One would think that there would be a fire, some spot-lights the sounds of people talking, something. But there was a whole lot of nothing. Also, the Huntsman didn't respond to the signal. He didn't respond to it the second time, or the third and fourth either. With growing unease and increasing desire to get out, the crew cautiously advanced into the camp to see what the hell might be going on.  
The camp was deserted and it looked like it had been that way for at least a few days. There was no sign of any of the huntsmen or huntresses or where they might have gone. At first the general idea was that the Grimm had attacked and overrun the camp, but there wasn't enough damage and signs of battle to prove that and there hadn't been a sign of those monsters, yet. Instead, there were strangely twisted and contorted pieces of metal scattered around, things that had once been knives, forks, cans and even what might have been a weapon of some kind, but it was so warped that it was impossible to tell.  
“Okay, this is not helping the bad feeling I've had since we set out on this trip.” Clarke mumbled nervously.  
“You're kinda speaking the obvious here, just a bit.” Red Coat replied.  
“Guys, you're not going to want to see this, but- uh... You kinda should.” Robin's voice was wavering intensely. As the rest of the crew joined her, they quickly saw why.  
Her light clearly lit up a ominous message carved into a ruined wall that led towards Beacon. It was only two words, two simple words.  
DON'T LOOK  
“Is that blood?” Jack asked, noting the way the light seemed to glisten on the words warning and a sizable splatter stain close to the end.   
“I'm a lot more concerned about what we're not supposed to look at. The dragon? The school? Who the hell wrote this and why?” Joe added to the one-sided sea of questions.  
Red Coat knelt down and picked something up. “Maybe this will tell us something.” He tossed the object at Clarke.  
“Whoa! Give a guy a warning first.” He growled as he struggled to catch the badly battered scroll.  
“Think you can fix it quickly, I really don't like the idea of sticking around much longer.”   
“Yea, give me a second.” The tech replied to Jack as he fiddled with the damaged electronics. “There, looks like there are some logs on this thing, but most of the data is either gone or really messed up, wait here's something.”  
The scroll's screen lit up into a mess of static and a panicked woman's voice began to stream out of the device. “If anyone finds this you have to get out of here! Beacon is” ~kzzt~ “There's something hunting” ~kzzt~ “I don't know what that, that Weeping Gorgon is but” ~kzzt~ “Even the Grimm fear her.” ~kzzt~   
There was a pause in the static while goosebumps began to creep up everyone's spines   
“She's coming..... Oh gods. I can hear it.” ~kzzt~ “When she finds you.... Whatever you do...”  
The woman's whimper was cut off by an ominous female hiss. “Dont. Look at me.”  
“Oh... gods....” The huntress's terrified sob was the last before what was left of the journal cut off into ominous static.  
With chills going up his spine and his heart was beating loudly in chest Joe quickly came to very worthwhile idea. “Alright, new plan. Get out of here and get drunk, any questions?”  
“Why are we still here?” Jack asked, his face pale.  
Red Shirt was already making his way in the direction the crew had come, his hair visibly standing on end. “We should get out of here before that thing or Grimm-”  
Almost as if they had been summoned by their utterance, a pack of Beowolves materialized from the quiet dark wood and attacked, catching Red Coat completely off guard. Two of the monsters began ripping into the screaming faunus while the rest of the crew panicked, firing their weapons wildly before fleeing away from the attacking Grimm, towards Beacon. Red Shirt's screams echoed for moments far too long in the terrified ears of the others before the a fatal silence consumed the doomed noise.  
They finally stopped ruining when they took cover in a mostly intact building that looked like it had once been a cafeteria, though it was hard to tell from all the damage. Joe and Jack frantic scanned the area behind them and saw that the Grimm hadn't followed.   
“What the hell, those things can't have lost us that easily.” Jack breathed.  
“Do you really want to look a gift horse in the mouth right now?” Joe responded with his heart in his throat.  
“After what that huntress said, yes! But aside that, what I really want is to be out of here!”  
Joe couldn't argue with that, with one eye over their shoulders Jack and Joe turned to join up with Robin and Clarke. Or rather just Robin, as Clarke was no where in sight.  
“I- I thought he was with you two.” Robin said between gasps when Joe asked.  
“He must have gone further ahead. No screams so it might be safe?” Jack wondered out loud, the light from his weapon sweeping the inky blackness ahead of the remaining crew. Two more flimsy beams of joined the first as Jack Joe and Robin began to move forward into the dark ruin, as going back would take them into the waiting jaws of the Grimm. Their best bet was to find a way back that went around the overrun encampment.   
With each step, the three humans were shivering, but not from the cold. There was a deathly quiet surrounding them, broken only by their steps and shallow breaths while they searched for an exit and any trace of Clarke.  
A sudden clatter of a can caused Robin to jump and made Joe's heart stop for an instant while Jack struggled not to open up with his weapon. Immediately the three of them struggled to locate the source of the sound.   
“There!” Robin hissed nervously, pointing along the beam of her flashlight to where a can was rolling along the cracked and debris covered floor. The light also caught Clarke's legs where he was leaning against the wall. “Clarke! What the hell are you playing at? Get over here, we have to stick together!”  
The three got closer to their lost companion, looking for safety in numbers. However Clarke fell to the floor, considerably shorter than he had been and with a wet “plop”.   
“What the hell?!”  
“Where's his head!?”  
“What got him?!”  
The startled and confused screams masked the sound of more rattling cans rolling across the floor past the headless body. Yet the panic was quieted when a new sound introduced itself.  
“Shikashikashika-” A loud an unnatural rattling echoed around the survivors who were now realizing that there was no wind, nor incline to cause the rolling of the cans.   
They were not alone  
“Don't.....Look at me.”  
A gentle and malevolent voice that mixed a teenage girl with a hissing reptile echoed in the dark around the shaking crew, far too late seeing that they had stepped down the throat of a nightmare. They managed horrified gasps before the thing lurking in the dark struck. The rattle of metal became a roar as a wave of cans came crashing towards the humans.   
They scrambled, ducked, dodged and weaved through the onslaught, at first. But while Jack may have been nimble and most certainly was quick, he didn't survive the metal stick that ran him through, thrown with murderous accuracy. The human kabob gasped in surprise at the scrap iron spear sticking out of his chest before the thing in the dark, the Weeping Gorgon, yanked her prey out of sight.  
In utter terror and blind luck, Joe and Robin managed to get out of the ruin and flee down an outdoor pathway that led in the direction of their ship. Many red eyes watched terrified humans run under the remaining failing lightposts, but not a single Grimm dared approach.  
Robin and Joe found their way blocked by the wreckage of an Atlas battleship. Frantic to get back to the ship but unwilling to risk any detours, they tried to make their way over it. Robin was able to make her way up easily enough, being lithe and lightly equipped, but Joe wasn't so fortunate.  
And the Weeping Gorgon had finished with Jack.  
At the edge of one of the nearby flickering lightposts, Robin saw a humanoid figure reach up its arm like it was pulling on something. There was a tortured shriek of metal and Robin's gun was violently ripped from her grasp as the side of the fallen ship that Joe was climbing up fell on top of him, trapping him on the wrong side.  
“Robin! Help! ME!” He screamed in utter panic, but Robin's gaze was fixed on the figure in the dark. It took a step forward, the light revealing what could have been mistaken for a human leg in bleached white greaves reaching up to the mid-thigh. Then the thing slung a round scrap iron shield at the failing light and was lost in the dark, but Robin should hear her.  
“Shikashikashika-”  
“ROBIN!!!” Joe screamed again, pleading.   
She ran, leaving him to scream her name again and again, before his screams became wordless shrieks of agony and terror.   
Panic gave the woman wings. And panic brought the Grimm down on her. With the Weeping Gorgon distracted and behind the battleship, the monsters couldn't resist the beautifully seasoned treat that had run into their midst.   
Somehow Robin still made it to the ship, bleeding and battered, she stumbled in, viciously assaulting the button to close the hatch as she forced herself to move towards the cockpit. Already the ship shuddered as various Grimm slammed into it, ravenous for the fresh meat inside.   
As fast as she was able with her left arm, as her right hung onto her body by a strand of meat and bone, Robin started up the ship.  
“Come on, come on, come on!”  
The engines fired up, dust began to pump. It would take a mere thirty seconds for the ship to take off.  
An ursa's paw violently introduced itself to the cockpit's windshield, heavily cracking it while the beast eyed the panicked prey hungrily.  
“Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon!”   
Fifteen seconds...  
The hatch doors where Robin had entered groaned as they were forced open.  
The ursa brought back its paw to shatter the windshield, but then.... it retreated.  
“Shikashikashika-”  
Robin didn't care what or why, the ship was ready to fly, now she could get out and-  
“Don't. Look. At. ME.”  
She froze solid. Her hand an inch away from the throttle. She shuddered and gasped, crying. She could feel something breathing behind her. “Oh gods....”  
She looked.  
The thing behind her was a humanoid Grimm, white bone covered her legs like greaves and her feet were like those of the dragon atop Beacon tower. The black of the creature's torso was broken by rib growths that merged into low v neck breastplate where a white growth of bone protruded like an arrow in the being's heart. From her back were a pair of great red wings and along her arms were various pieces of scrap metal held there by some unknowable force like some form of armor. In her claws was the spear she'd used, blood stained and looking as though it had been forced together and sharpened. The rattlesnake-like tail was connected to the creature's head, along the way, the tar black scales gave way to red hair. The most hideous thing was the monster's face, a mask that mixed the features of a human and serpent skull with razor teeth and two pairs of eyes, one pair red, hungry, angry and malevolent, the other pair vivd-Green, frightened, dispairing and weeping red tears down the mask.  
“YOU LOOKED” The Weeping Gorgon shrieked, and with a wail that threatened to wake the dead, she fell upon the screaming Robin.  
None can tell what was louder that black night. Robin shrieking as the monster ripped her apart, the scream of the metal as the creature's power crushed it around them or the wail of Weeping Gorgon herself.  
There was finally silence once again, when the last drop of blood left Robin's shredded remains.

Author's bit.  
HAPPY HOLLOWEEN!   
So yea, this is my own take on the whole, Pyrrha comes back as a Grimm theory. One slight twist though, is that this creature, the Weeping Gorgon, isn't Pyrrha being reborn a Grimm but rather a Grimm born with pieces of Pyrrha. In short, it is her own existence even if at the point of her birth, she thought she was Pyrrha, allow me to explain. Before Ruby did the desus ex machina thing with the silver eyes that does things, the Grimm Dragon more than likely inhaled just a bit of the ash that was once Pyrrha, that mixed with the stuff that makes Grimm and some of the shattered fragments of Pyrrha's soul got mixed in. Most, I believe went to Ruby for whatever reason, and I blame that theory on the episode where Ruby heard Pyrrha calling for Jaune, but not important right now. The stuff that got mixed in, was enough to create a humanoid Grimm, likely the first and only one of its kind, spawing from the Dragon that's still serving as a beacon for Grimm on top of Beacon tower (eh eh! I'll show myself out.) Of course the dragon's still frozen, but I think its still pumping out Grimm all the same, and in this mess the Weeping Gorgon was born. As a human Grimm, she's unique, as she has all of Pyrrha's fighting skill and just enough pieces of her soul to use aura, and her semblance. Add in a few fragmented memories, like only remembering Jaune by his blonde hair, Cinder killing her, and what Pyrrha looked like and oh boy... Not pretty.   
As for why the Grimm fear her, well, due to the fact she can use aura, but is a Grimm, that burns a lot of energy, as such, she is RAVENOUS. She can eat an alpha goliath and still be starving on a bad day. And there's the fact that she's one of them, but isn't. She's a beacon of negativity due to her fragmented personality but she feeds on them. Still figuring out the details there honestly.  
Any who now the piece de resistance, the whole don't look thing. Like I said, when she was first spawned, she legitimately thought she was Pyrrha Nikos. A quick glance in a mirror and the memory of Cinder killing her shattered that idea pretty quick. And she has enough humanity to utterly loath her appearance. She does not want to be seen, but is drawn to people by both her hunger and Pyrrha's loneliness, that's why shes a “bad” ambusher. If she's close, you WILL know it, due to the rattlesnake rattle, the “Shikashikashika-” and when she tells you not to look, that's when she's right on top of you. Now then, the whole don't look thing gives you two options in the Weeping Gorgon's eyes, if you don't look, then you're good prey and get to die quickly. If you do look.... you're going to die blind and screaming. She'll go for the eyes first.   
As for the name, well I was heavily inspired by the good old weeping angels of Doctor Who, and figured that she's something you don't want to look at, and which Greek legend had something similar.  
I hope the sheer creep and NOPE factors I felt in writing this translated well


	3. The Legend of the City of Citadels

In the beginning of man's rise to dominance of the world of Remnant, an eternity before the formation of the four kingdoms, there was a single kingdom of ancient and terrible power. Unrivaled in greatness, power, savagery and darkness. Few in the modern world still remember the fallen kingdom and most that do see it little more than stories to scare children into obedience or for the sake of scaring one another, tales of humans and fauness wielding powerful weapons that thirsted for blood, dark magics and the very power of the Grimm at their command. But such tales are mere fantasies and delusions of a shadow of truth.   
This is the true story of Albion, the First kingdom, the Black kingdom, the kingdom of Khans and Gods. A tale of bloody sacrifices, uncontrolled ambition and desperate adaption.   
When the moon was still whole and the tribes of man and fauness scattered across the world with the creatures of Grimm hunting them every step of the way a sizable group of them came across a large island north of the continent of Anima and southeast of the frozen wastes of Solitas. It had an immense but dormant volcano in its center with a small but impassible mountain range spreading southeast towards a jagged coast, taking up roughly one third of the island. From the mountains were fertile foothills that could be held and defended from the Grimm with forests full of wild game. Thus the tribes that came to the island quickly claimed territory and settled in the shadow the volcano which would latter be named Mount Morgoth.   
At first it seemed the tribes had found a paradise beneath the shadow of Mount Morgoth, but such illusions were shattered as the darkness of the Grimm quickly found them. The tribes that settled the furthest to the northwest were either wiped out or driven back as tides of the creatures of Grimm drove at man again and again from the northern most reaches of the island. Worse still, there were three monstrous dragons that stood out in the ravenous storm of fangs and claws.  
From the waters there was Boudica, an immense and hidden horror from the lightless depths of the ocean. With her tentacles she would capture and crush man and Grimm alike, remaining hidden beneath the waves save for when her massive maw would open, turning a calm sea into a raging maelstorm of hunger from which there was no escape but death. The few scattered stories of survivors told of a almost reptilian-humanoid torso attached unnaturally to a body of an monumentally large kraken with a maw so large that it encompassed much of the body.  
From the land there was Attila, a behemoth beast of fire and hate, bound to the ground with no wings but capable of making the sky rain fire all around him with his molten breath and hurling flaming chunks of earth at his victims in a fatal barrage with his two pairs of arms. The rage filled roars and plumes of smoke from his flaming breath were the only warnings that heralded his arrival. His attacks left naught but destruction in the wake of his unrelenting rage.  
Last and most feared was from the sky. There was Vlad, a gargantuan four winged terror that was the embodiment of the storm that struck with all the speed and violence of a lightning strike. His victims would see the shadow of doom cover them and the ground around them before a horrendous shriek would shatter any form of calm or control, driving even creatures of Grimm into a panic before they were swooped up, screaming in the vortex of wind from the monster's passing.  
Truly the endless tide of Grimm alone would have spelled the doom of the tribes that would create Albion, but the three dragons possessed a sinister intelligence and gorged on the Grimm while seemingly holding back when they attacked the tribes, almost as if they relished in making man suffer, despair and fear. But it was not only the strange twisted mercy of the dragons that proved to be the people's salvation. There arose and fell many would be heroes to stall the relentless advance of the Grimm, but only two are remembered.  
The great Defender, Ozymandias and Asylum the Allseer. Both were blessed by the old gods with unmatched magical powers, together these two rallied and united the panicking tribes against the Grimm and even pushed back. Yet the cost was great, and there was no sign of their strength breaking the endless numbers of Grimm and all the while the Three continued to treat themselves as they willed. The hatred, despair and terror only continued to grow.  
Finally, Asylum appeared with an answer that delved into madness. As the gods of the ancestors had forsaken them, they would take matters into their own hands, with the aid of the Three dragons. How she would communicate or gain their favor, none could say, yet almost all were desperate enough to follow her without question, save for Ozymandias and his followers who argued against such madness and that it would bring the wrath of the gods down upon them.  
Yet despite the bond between the two heroes, or perhaps because of it, Asylum would not be deterred. Disregarding Ozymandias's protests she left to seek out the Three, with thirty of the bravest, insane and desperate volunteers.   
After the first week, it was assumed by most that Asylum and her group had perished. All hope fell upon the Defender who threw everything he could at the closing Grimm noose. Yet with each battle, even as Ozymandias refused to give up and retreat, the darkness only gained more ground, little by little, piece by piece, life by life. Finally, the united tribes had their backs to the mountains that extended off of Mount Morgoth. With the Grimm at their throat, none, not even Ozymandias had noticed that the attacks of the Three had stopped in their entirety.  
It was then in the blackest hour with Grimm all around that Asylum returned, without any of the thirty who had left with her, but not alone. From the sky, sea and earth, each of the Three launched themselves at the seemingly limitless mass of Grimm, gorging themselves in a terrifying feast. Asylum herself appeared with new and powerful magics at her command, weaving a path of devastation through the rapidly deteriorating sea of Grimm.   
In mere moments of Asylum's return the battle was ended before the monsters could reach the weary lines of the tribes. The Three pursued the withdrawing numbers of Grimm, their appetites insatiable, while the Allseer and the Defender met up once again for the first time in a month. What was said between them went unheard, all that is remembered is that by the end of it the once inseparable pair nearly came to blows as their powers flared dangerously at one another, Ozymandias's courageous and mighty magics and Asylum's once defensive and cautious sorceries were now darkened with bitterness and a desperate desire.   
Whatever their argument had been though, the people gave Asylum a hero's welcome and a great celebration and feast was organized, whilst Ozymandias kept to himself along his most loyal followers who had survived the countless battles at his side. All appeared normal, but when the time came to give praise to the gods of the ancestors, Asylum halted the shamen and seers and began to speak of her travels and of the pact she had made with the Three. Her journey had reinforced her belief that their gods were well and truly gone, long since turning their gaze elsewhere and abandoning them the ravages of the Grimm's endless hunger. To each of the mighty dragons she had sacrificed ten of those who had followed her and had used her powers to forge a pact to satiate the endless starvation that plagued the three monsters, for mortals did little, but the traitorous and faithless gods would certainly fulfill their appetite until the end of time. And in the place of the gods, the people of the tribes would take the now vacant heavens and finally be free of the doomed battle against the Grimm and ascend to be the new gods of the world. To accomplish such, she spoke of a powerful ritual to be preformed under the darkness of a eclipse, one that she had predicted was on the way.  
Such words from anyone else you have been laughed off as a foul joke in the best case or lead to their exile as blasphemy, but Asylum, who had once been most faithful and beloved by the gods, spoke with such passion and freavor, reaching into the despairing heart of all those present and giving most something all were desperate for. The possibility of freedom from the curse of the Grimm was too much for almost all the despairing tribes people and they all quickly gave their ear and will over to Asylum's cause though few remained faithful to the old gods and left to seek Ozymandias and those who followed him. Thus were the untied tribes split into two factions, the lesser of which was the Faithful under Ozymandias who clung to their beliefs in the old gods, and the greater portion of the people began calling themselves the Albionea, the citizens of the heavens, under Asylum's leadership.  
Relations between the two factions quickly turned hostile, though all out conflict was avoided due to the continued threat of the Grimm tide and the Albionea's overwhelming advantage in numbers and to say nothing of the Three. The Three busied themselves with feeding on the Grimm and, to a slightly lesser extent than before, the people, yet it was clear they supported Asylum as their hungry growls were generally what kept the peace in the Albionea's favor. A dark result came of this as the Albionea began to practice human sacrifice for the Three  
Asylum focused her efforts in tearing down the shrines and sacred places of the old gods while Ozymandias was caught between the threat of the Grimm and trying to keep his people safe, as now the Albionea volunteered the Faithful to be sacrificed far more often than not and as such could, or would, do little to oppose the one he had once been inseparable with. All the while, the Allseer prepared her ritual, learning new and darker magic.  
When finally the day of the eclipse arrived, there was an unnatural calm over the island. All animals were hidden and silent. The sea was still and the wind gone. Even the Grimm tide seemed to have receded. Then the eclipse began, darkness consuming the daylight as the moon covered the sun. Asylum, Vlad, Attila and Boadicea began their ritual. From the dormant Mount Morgoth, Attila raised a pillar of molten obsidian. Boadicea shaped and cooled it to channel the energies of the ritual. Vlad gathered black storm clouds and blasted lightning in a vortex of energy. Asylum used her newfound magics to provide the last component, a mass sacrifice of one hundred souls. The energies of the ritual gathered and blasted up the pillar towards the moon blackened sky in a bright blood crimson lance that pierced the sky. The earth began to shake, the waves of the sea frothed and crashed against the shore and the gathered storm clouds swirled about the lance of bloodied light with the promise of violent wrath. In that time when the attention of all, fauness, human and dragon, was focused on the ritual, the Faithful finally revealed their treachery.   
Claiming that it was the will of the gods, Ozymandias and his followers attempted to disrupt the ritual whilst the Three and Asylum were occupied. At first caught off guard, the Albionea quickly recovered and fought back, but were unable to prevent Ozymandias from reaching the pillar.  
All that is known about what happened, is that something went very, very wrong.   
The Three roared with rage as the crimson lance wavered and began to flicker and split, sending forks of energy blasting around randomly. Lances of energy struck the Three only just moments before the moon and world shattered. For a frozen instant, the total darkness of the eclipse exploded into a chaotic dance of light and shadows. At the same time, Mount Morgoth awoke in cataclysmic fury. Fire and molten magma unleashed their own hellish light onto the world, clad in a black robe of smoke that unfurled down the mountainside in a stampede of suffocating darkness. Like a bolder sealing a tomb, the cloud of ash and debris swept over the warring people. Yet even then the fighting only intensified. Believing that the Faithful had doomed them, the Albionea were driven on in a brutal frenzy to slay as many as they could before death claimed them. All the while the Faithful fought and died praying to their now truly absent gods.  
Yet, not even death would free those early people of what would become Albion. With roars of terrifying anger, the Three blasted away the smothering smoke. Many had already perished in the fighting and from suffocation. Yet the few remaining Faithful were quickly captured by the wrathful Albionea. Their deaths were delayed by the reappearance of Asylum.  
All were frozen by the change that had over taken the Allseer. Gone forever were the vibrant living colors that she had once worn, stained blacker than the darkness that surrounded all. Gone were her beautiful golden locks that caught the light of the sun and moon, now bleached near as white a bone. Gone was much of her humanity, her skin drained pale white with veins of black breaking across her arms and her cheeks.   
As for Ozymandias, he dangled limp and beaten bloody with Asylum's clawed hand holding his throat. She turned her blackened gaze from the beaten and destroyed figure at her mercy and the survivors saw her eyes. Her eyes, once blue and full of hope and life, were now black and crimson filled with bitter cold hate and malice. It showed that their hero had become like the Three. Full of power and doom, she was well and truly a cursed force of nature.  
“All of you here know now, that because of your weakness in allowing this traitor to interfere, the hope of this world and all of you has been crushed. Though this world is forever doomed, not all is entirely lost.” She paused, throwing Ozymandias to the ground and stepping on his head, threatening to crush it and kill the betrayer. “The gods of old have fled and now three new ones have taken their place!”  
Attila, Vlad and Boudica entered the line of sight of the survivors of the cataclysm. All before them were terrified as now the dragons had almost evolved, growing larger, more horns, with tendrils of darkness swirling around them. Each now had a mane of writhing fire, lightning and water that cackled with the promise of violence. Their very presence now emanated something more then just power now. From Boudica, Attila and Vlad, the people could feel a deluge of despair, a eruption of hate and a cyclone of terror.  
The people were frozen before Asylum's new gods.   
“You all have a choice now. Will you cower and cling to the doomed hope of old, praying for a swift death? Or will you face the end with strength and power?”  
Between Asylum's driven words and the sheer presence of the Three, almost all, even most of the remaining Faithful, bowed down and pledged everything to the monsters. Only Ozymandias's two remaining lieutenants refused. As for Ozymandias, he pushed himself from the ground, saying something that only Asylum could hear Whatever he said, quiet and cold rage began to radiate off the changed woman.  
Casting a piercing glance of pure contempt at the injured man. She responded.  
“And we have our first proper sacrifices for the gods.”  
Over the course of the next few day, the gods earned new titles from the way their sacrifices were prepared and consumed. Boudica became the God of Despair, Lord of the Crushing Abyss. Attila became the God of Hatred, Lord of the Burning Depths. Finally Vlad became the God of Terror, Lord of the Shattered Heavens,.  
Of the three sacrifices, the only one that was recorded was the end of Ozymandias, his title of defender, furthermore forsaken in favor one more suiting. Ozymandias the Traitor. The preparation was simple. All Asylum the Ascended did was cripple him before leaving him to the mercies of the God of Terror without a glance back. Of all the gods, the Traitor had almost a rivalry with Vlad. From all their fights that Ozymandias had survived, the Lord of the Shattered Heavens had come to view the mortal as the ultimate prize. The the god took the Traitor up the now angrily active Mount Morgoth, beyond the sight of the people, yet not beyond sound. For a week, the Traitor's screams echoed down from the flaming mouth of the volcano under the light of the now shattered moon. The backlash of the failed ritual had forever scared the moon of the world.  
As for the rest of the people, they fell into line under Asylum the Ascended's leadership, quickly being separated into casts. There were the builders, those who took charge of the rebuilding all that had been lost and building new fortifications and weapons against the Grimm. The breeders, those who would bear and raise and care for the new generations. The warriors, those who would fight the Grimm and protect the people from all threats. Last were those who would become the mage-priests, men and women skilled with magic and aura as well as former shamen and seers of stature. Asylum gathered them under her, teaching them all she had learned gathering the Three as well as how to commune with the gods.   
Under the iron rule of Asylum, tribes faded, and a large settlement was built around the ruined pillar of the failed ritual and the forts of the clans. The name that was given to the fledgling city was Albion, a bleak reminder of the people's failure and a stark monument to the closest they would ever get to heaven.   
Under the protection of the gods, the tides of the Grimm were thinned enough that the warriors of Albion could repel the attacks. For their good will of the Three, human and fauness sacrifice became a main part of the growing culture of Albion. Yet the protection was not the greatest boon granted from Vlad, Boadicea and Attila. The devastation caused by Mount Morgoth's initial eruption had driven away or killed much of the animals the people hunted and crops had withered in the storms that had overtaken Albion. Thus food had been the greatest concern. From the gods, Asylum taught the people of Albion the secret of keeping the corpses of Grimm from vanishing into nothing. With this knowledge the greatest threat to Albion became its salvation. Yet there would be a price that none would ever have imagined.  
However, Asylum's rule was short. One night, two years into her rule, she vanished without a word into the darkness and never returned.   
Never again would Albion be ruled by a single ruler. Many made attempts but they were short lived. With no singular person able take the Ascended's place, the most power, cunning and lucky of the mage-priests formed a council to rule over the new kingdom of Albion.   
Thus began the age of Faith.   
The mage-priests formed an inquisition to hunt down the last few survivors of the faithful that hadn't submitted to become part of the breeders. All the while they preached a new religion. One that forsook hope and promised strength in the inevitable darkness of the end. From the prime emotions of despair, hate and fear, the people came to lose the fear of death. Instead they welcomed and almost looked forward to it. For in death, the people would be judged and be raised as Grimm once the black tide inevitably consumed the Remnant in it's final twilight. The Gods would forestall the endtimes and honor the sacrificed with worthy forms in after the end. The rest of the Albionea would earn their Grimm forms through their life. The more they accomplished in their life, the stronger their Grimm-life would be.  
Driven by the dark promises of the endtimes, the people were driven to survive and worship their gods. As the newly born city grew, so to did the darkness that drew the Grimm. The Gods ate their fill of the black tide, and left the rest to Albion.   
Against the Grimm, the builders quickly learned the art of making mighty citadels from the old forts of the clans. With stone, wood and metal, lethal fortifications were built to slow and thin the tide. The warriors cleaned and harvested the rest.   
From the wrath of Mount Morgoth, Albion discovered a limitless bounty of metals, with iron and steel quickly coming to replace bronze and stone. With such metals, the citadels and weapons of Albion reached new levels of carnage, allowing for the city to push out and grow ever more.  
Yet it wasn't just new discoveries in resources or tactics that aided the Albionea. Over the generations a dark physical change came over the people. Crimson marks, like tattoos or birthmarks, began to appear on the skin. The younger generations became more pale and grew to tower over their elders. Their strength grew to match, or even eclipse, the heroes of the legends of old. Humans started to show some signs of becoming more savage and aggressive. The animalistic features of the fauness became more glaring and prominent. Some even looked more like animals acting as people. Some of the strongest warriors and mage-priests spoke of being able to sense the Grimm. Red eyes became commonplace among the folk of Albion. Their lust for battle and pleasure increased drastically.   
Driven by hatred of hope and spite at the world as a whole, the Taint aided in shaping the bloodthirsty culture of the accursed kingdom.  
Thus the Taint of Albion came to be. And for a time, a status quo was achieved. Albion would grow outward from citadel to citadel. The Grimm and warriors would battle each other with escalating savagery. All the while the mage-priests would choose the sacrifices for the gods from the breeder cast, learning more cruel and creative ways to prepare the food for each of the god's liking.   
The beginning of the end of the age of Faith came with the discovery of Dust. The builders had begun delving into the earth for more metal to fuel Albion's bottomless hunger. Beneath the skin of Mount. Morgoth, they discovered the first of the dust quarries beneath the city. The discovery was marked by a large explosion within the mines as the material was initially thought to be nothing more than waste and the miners tried to clear it. The mess of the aftermath showed the Albionea just how wrong that idea was.  
With the elemental powers of Dust now added to the arsenal of Albion, the mage-priests were less pressed to aid the defense and expansion and instead focused on their power over Albion. The warriors happily discarded the need to rely on those they view as fortunate weaklings. All the while the builders and breeders experimented ways to utilize the new and powerful resource.   
Before the discovery of Dust, almost all of the wood on the island was used for aiding in the building of the mighty citadels or fuel. Now with Dust as a fuel source, eyes curious and hungry, began to turn outwards across the dark waters of Boudica's dominion.  
Led by ambitious members of the mage-priests seeking to further their power, the builders learned to construct strong sea worthy ships to explore Remnant. With volunteers from the warrior caste, the first expeditionary ships set out on their journeys after giving suitable sacrifice to the Lord of the Crushing Abyss.   
At last Albion discovered the outside word after centuries of isolation. The crews of the wandering ships marveled at the vast amount of lands that had once been beyond their reach. They first made landfall on the continent that would one day be known as Anima and there came into contact with the Grimm there, which the warriors quickly discovered to be far weaker then the beasts that battled Albion, and the tribes of untainted man that lived there.  
Initial contract with the other people was initially strained, as to the natives of Anima, the Albionea appeared as monstrous, Grimm-like versions of themselves while the explorers view the natives as pathetic weakling heathens. Tensions finally broke when a warrior of the Albionea forcibly took one of the natives for their mate. Though the natives outnumbered the Albionea, the Albionea were physically stronger and had the might of a mage-priest along with the power of Dust at their command. After a viscous battle that saw the near destruction of multiple tribes, the Albionea retreated from the shores back to their city, but not without tales of vast resources and lands, but also many captive slaves.  
So ended the age of faith, as the sacrificial culture of Albion came to appreciate the use of enslaving the “Pure-bloods” of the continents. For the pure-bloods were far more prone to hatred, terror and despair then the Albionea who had grown numb due to constant exposure, and there was less problems of accidentally sacrificing the loved ones of people who mattered.  
And thus began the age of lust  
With the promises of further slaves and wealth from the continents, the ruling mage-priests blessed the construction of a great fleet of raiding ships to explore and plunder the world. The fleets of Albion raided the coasts of Saunus, Anima and Solitas and even reached as far south as Menagerie, destroying and plundering all the Pure-blood tribes they came across. The raids were so successful that many outposts and later colonies were established. The most notable of which was the fortified settlement of Ravenhead, a bastion built on the coast of Anima near where the original expeditionary forces had landed.   
It was an age of plenty, yet with the surplus in peoples their came new threats. The massive increase in the population from the slaves was more than Albion had been built to sustain, causing friction among the population. As space became a premium, unrest and disease from the growing slums threatened to do what the Grimm couldn't. Yet the solution came from below. With the mines below Albion being emptied, it wasn't long before clever builders started expanding beneath the earth and even into Mount Morgoth itself. Soon, beneath the city of citadels was built a sprawling and magnificent under-city. The crowning jewel of the city below was the creation of Attila's Forge, a massive forge, foundry and armory complex built in a large cavern near the volcano's heart. Through slaves and persistence the builders were able to harness a portion of the natural power that their moody protector regularly expressed. Molten magma flowed and provided raw materials en mass. With the lessons learned from the creation of Attila's Forge, the builders were able to divert the lava flows of Morgoth, providing heat and materials to all of Albion.  
But the disease and crowding from the overpopulation was not the only threat. With the introduction of slaves to the city, the Grimm became more ravenous. The negativity of the dark kingdom swelled to become an irresistible black beacon that drew in the Grimm flood like nothing before.   
The warriors found themselves being pushed back by stronger and far more continuous assaults, losing no less than four of the furthest citadels before the mage-priests commissioned the building of a massive wall that reached from the slope of Mount Morgoth to the shore of the island. Over course of a decade, what would be known as the Firewall was built over the broken, blood-soaked land. An unmatched gargantuan wall of black steel, newly invented cannons, towers armed with large dust crystal weapons corrupted and empowered by the strongest blood rituals of the mage-priests. Upon completion, the Firewall effectively cut the island in two, completing the barrier made by Mount Morgoth and its lesser siblings. The land beyond was left to the gods and the Grimm and was rendered an utter wasteland by the ever increasing arsenal of Albion. Yet the Grimm never stopped coming. And never would.  
Further changes reared their heads as the age of lust progressed. The pure-bloods began forming kingdoms of their own. The warriors viewed this change with anticipation. No longer would Albion's raids come down upon wandering tribes and barely defended settlements against simple pure-blood barbarians. Now the fledgling kingdoms fought back with organized fighters of their own from fortifications of wood and stone. Most engagements still fell in the Albionea's favor yet slowly the first kingdom was learning to almost respect the pure-bloods. Yet, as with all things, there was one exception.  
On the southern part of the continent of Anima raiding forces of Albion encountered a small but powerful kingdom of fauness that not only fought the raiders, but drove them back to the coasts. They were known as the Mesozoiclans. They proved to be the first foe after the Grimm that Albion was forced to take seriously as the Mesozoiclans even invaded and captured some Albionea coastal settlements before the dark empire responded properly. For the first time in its bloody history, Albion fought a legitimate war against the pure-bloods. Though the warriors of Albion used weapons of steel and we empowered by both the Taint and dust, the Mesozoiclans were able to match their might and ferocity as their animal aspects were universally those of great and powerful reptilian creatures of a lost age even though their weaponry was quite primitive. Being only weapons of wood, stone and obsidian. With the might of Albion's navy, the black empire was able to push Mesozoiclans back. Yet once inland, the true strength of the primordial kingdom revealed itself in the form of great and terrible lizard warbeasts with strong scales, formidable claws and terrifying teeth. In their first encounter, the forces of Albion mistook the warbeasts for dragons. Albion's warbeasts only consisted of the still recent addition of horses and they fought an up hill battle against the Mesozoiclans' terrible lizards, who also used the jungle terrain to their advantage. There was nothing quite as effective as the trees suddenly parting to reveal a massive set of jaws lunging at human to unnerve a foe. Yet the cannons and steel of Albion and sheer ferocity of her warriors the were able to drive the primal fauness back. Yet total victory eluded either side for over a century of bloody conflict. Finally both entered negotiations and established a non-agression pact which drove a wedge between the ruling mage-priests and the warrior caste who saw the move as that of weakness. Yet there was little the warriors could do as the mage-priests still help the power to say whom was the next meal of the gods. As for the mage-priests, they had other concerns.  
One of the pure-blood kingdoms of Saunus had become quite bold. Assuming they had to power to challenge Albion, the pure-blood kingdom attempted to bring war to the dark empire's outposts and settlements on the continent, to finally end the raids. Albion's response was devastating. To show the world their power. The mage-priests declared a crusade against the upstart kingdom, focusing all of Albion's might on that one kingdom. These pure-blood were not the Mesozoiclans. They had neither the terrible lizard war beasts nor the savagery. Their preciously few advantages were their knowledge of the terrain and their weaponry being almost on par with the Albionea. Yet that was barely enough to slow the onslaught of the first Albion crusade.   
By the bloodbath's end, the kingdom was all but wiped from memory, and the few who survived being left to the Grimm and sought refuge in the other kingdoms. From their maddened stories, the pure-bloods learned to fear the coming of the ships with black sails marked with bleach white Grimm skulls over a red vortex of fire, water and lightning. For that was the mark of Albion, and against the black empire, the pure-bloods could only fight to defend themselves or fly from their homes.  
The end of the first crusade marked the beginning of the mage-priest caste's fall. Albion was without any true threats, as the Firewall was continuously being built up and fortified with new and impressive weaponry and the Mesozoiclans beginning to show the first signs of decline at the hands of their neighbors. The pure-bloods were all but livestock to the raids. Their victories were a clear sign that their rule was blessed by the three gods until the Grimmerroc, the end of light. Any who were foolish enough to disagree with the gods, quickly became food for the Three. With no visible threats to their power, the mage-priests began to indulge themselves far more.   
An entire section of Albion, from around was taken for the mage-priests on the slopes of the volcano around the ruined Pillar of the Accended. It was called the cathedral district and was, in the words of the ruling council, to honor the gods. Yet in reality, the churches and shrines built were decadent shows of power and wealth by the various families of the mage-priests, each new one built to be more extravagant than the last whilst various cults of lust, corruption, lies and sloth began to fester in the ruling caste.   
It did not go unnoticed.  
With the growing cancer within the mage-priest caste, the discontent within the other three castes began to grow. For the warriors, it grew from the treaty forged with the Mezosiclans and their recent treating with envoys from other pure-blood kingdoms. For the builders, it grew from the insults the various families heaped upon their works. For the breeders, over the course of the ages countless had wished to become warriors and builders yet the rule of the mage-priests had held the castes as absolute. Whispers of unrest, of anger, of hate, of ambition began to creep in the shadows of the city.  
The most cunning among the warriors and builders eventual managed to convince the mage-priest council to leave the trivial matters of running the empire and the armies to the builders and warriors respectively. But the mage-pirests were still safe to continue their decadence as the gods still communed with them.  
Thus cunning failed, and madness would succeed.  
The first piece of fate falling into place was when a Source spring was accidentally discovered in the newest building project in the mage-priests' cathedral district. At first it was a mystery what the black liquid was, but when a force of warriors was called in and was almost wiped out by a new kind of Grimm, forcing the mage-priests to actually get their own hands dirty and send in their own forces. After the event, the rulers declared that the Source was a sacred sign from the gods and that the greatest of all cathedrals would be built on top of the “blessed” area.   
The lone survivor of the warriors who were sent to contain the outbreak of Grimm escaped into the under-city and revealed a dark truth to his comrades. The Grimm had in fact been builders who had been exposed to the Source. It had interacted with their taint, empowering it, and mutated them into powerful mindless half-Grimm, half-man creatures. Their power had been more than anything the band of warriors had ever faced and it had taken much of the mage-priests' magic and personal guards to finally slay the beasts. During the struggle, the survivor had been knocked into a small puddle of the Source, and had tasted the power it promised. He claimed the mage-priests intended to keep the power for themselves, that the power if mastered would bring the warriors, no, all of Albion to a age of untold glory.  
Thus the Survivor and a group of the most ambitious, crazed, and driven warriors broke into the sacred contained area and exposed their taint to the Source and then fled into the yet unclaimed tunnels of the mountains chained to Mount Morgoth. When they returned, less than half the number that went, they showcased their new powers before the Firewall in the midst of a great wave of Grimm. The sentries of the Firewall were awestruck witnesses to the carnage that unfolded. The Source had not so much changed the warriors who had exposed themselves as it had pushed them to a new level of accursed power. Their speed, strength and even semblances had become inhuman as they tore through countless Grimm without pause, caring not for the number nor the wounds they themselves took, losing themselves to their bloodlust. Some of their number even shapeshifted in Grimm-like forms.   
The carnage by the wave's end, was inhuman. Not one of the warriors at the foot of the Firewall had fallen and the ground at their feet was covered in the disintegrating corpses of nearly a thousand slaughtered Grimm. News of these warriors, no these beserkers reached the Mage-Priests quickly. Their reaction was swift and unexpected by many. They declared the beserkers heretics, to be hunted down and slaughtered like abominations. Yet, the berserkers faded into the shadows of Albion as lines now became apparent between those dwindling numbers who stood with the mage-priests and those who did not.  
Civil war appeared inevitable, even with the mage-priests' threat of the god's wrath. Small skirmishes flared between those who found themselves loyal to the beserkers and the Heavenguard, a small army devoted to the mage-priests.   
Driven by maddened ambition, the berserkers were not consumed by it however. Three of their number concocted a plan that crossed all lines of heresy and blasphemy. In their minds, the gods were just as guilty of complacency as the mage-priests.  
So, it was time for the gods to pass their powers to those more worthy. Whether they willed it or not.  
Near the time of one of the ritual sacrifices, the beserkers acted. Two traps were set, one for both Vlad and Attila, and the other for Boudica.   
For the two gods that feasted on the island, bait was placed before the Firewall. It was far from uncommon for the sentinels of Albion to give their own, unsanctioned offerings to the gods. However, once the both the god-dragons ripped through the hordes of Grimm for their meals, every last artillery battery on the Firewall unleashed their explosive wrath upon the gods.   
For the gods within the sea, something along the same vein was set up. Boadicea was drawn from the depths to consume an older ship filled with many despairing sacrifices, and many more barrels of unstable dust with fuses lit. She noticed nothing until the explosions blew her monstrous maw too pieces, driving her to the shore.  
The screams of shock, pain and rage of the gods on that day which would be known as the Godfall were unmatched and would never be matched. Almost all the lands within Albion's dominion and beyond heard those terrible cries that marked the end of the age of Lust.   
Vlad and Attila were unprepared for the Firewall's barrage, being wounded by multiple shots. Vlad was able to take to the skies but not before two beserkers rushed from hiding places. One was known as Gilgamesh, who was the survivor and had become the unofficial leader of the beserkers, the other was Alexander, a veteran warrior who specialized in his worship of hate before becoming a beserker and Gilgamesh's bloodthirsty warhound.   
Gilgamesh latched onto Vlad as the god attempted to flee to the sky while Alexander faced the badly bloodied Attila on the ravaged killing grounds before the Firewall. On the sea, a single raiding corvette closed on the wounded Boadicea , at its helm was Gilgamesh's right hand Victoria, a follower of the way of despair and a renowned leader of raids.   
First to fall was Boudica who screamed an abysmal wail as she was impaled on the bowspirt of Victoria's corvette before her final silence came at the hands of her slayer's spear.  
Attila was next, with ravenous raging roars as his weakened blows failed to hold Alexander's relentless assault at bay and the beserker's hammer broke his chest, lungs and heart.  
The final end of the Godfall was Vlad's, The monster shrieking an earsplitting cry as he plummeted from the storming heavens, his wings sliced apart by Gilgamesh's swords, the madman himself attempting to finish the god before their fall was abruptly halted with Vlad being impaled upon one of the spires of the incomplete cathedral of the source.  
With the death of their gods, the greatest threat in the mage-priests' arsenal was extinguished and almost immediately the other castes turned their fangs on them. In a mere day of bloodshed the mage-priests and their few loyal forces were trapped within the cathedral district. Though outnumbered, they still had their dark magic and the fortifications to their advantage. Yet the mage-priests were ill prepared for their doom.  
The three godslayers returned, welding the first of weapons that were only to be wielded by beserkers, the first endsingers, weapons forged of blood, dust and grimmbone. Wielded by Victoria, forged from the fangs of Boudica was the lethal halberd Hopebleeder. Wielded by Alexander, forged from Attila's shattered rib cage was the devastating war maul Hellsreach. Wielded by Gilgamesh, forged from the horns of Vlad was the terrifying greatsword Heavenmorne.  
It is whispered that Asylum herself returned to teach the three godslayers the method of forging their trophies into the greatest weapons Albion would ever know, weapons that all following beserkers would gaze upon with envy and seek to match with their own endsingers. They were weapons shaped from the bones of mighty Grimm, forged with the dust of the wielder's choice and cooled and bound to the wielder by their own life-blood. Yet endsingers were not just mere weapons, they kept a portion of the power of the Grimm that was used to make it, and the Endsingers of the gods were the most powerful of them all.   
It is said that in a single night, the three godslayers entered the cathedral district alone and by the stormy dawn, there was naught but carnage remaining. It had been as though the three hadn't slain the gods, but become them in human form, each wielding the power of the gods as their own. Against such might, the mage-priests could do little but be pure-bloods to the slaughter. It is possible a few mage-priests may have escaped the butchery, but the only one who is known to have truly survived, the wife of the leading mage-priests whom was taken as Gilgamesh's prize and bride.   
Thus, with the cancer of the mage-priests cut away, the three godslayers rose to become the first in the line of rulers under a new title that would remain until Albion's end. The Khans. And the third and final age of Albion was named as such, the age of Khans.  
The very first command of the Khans was to tear down all the opulent shrines and temples built within the cathedral district save for the incomplete cathedral of the source. Instead, the cathedral was expanded and renamed to Ascension's Gate. Within the cathedral a well of the source was made, surrounded by great and terrifying statues of the three fallen gods, their slayers and Asylum the Ascended herself, though in words of the Khans she had taken a new name since her departure, Salem. The cathedrals was further decorated with beautiful stained glass windows depicting scenes of legends of Albion, such as the attempt to seize heaven, Ozymandias's betrayal and his execution at the hands of the gods and Salem's ascension. The cathedral's completion was marked when the large dust enchanted bells rang in dark magnificence across the city of citadels. Ascension's Gate was where all beserkers were baptized within the source once they had complete all trials and built their own endsinger, becoming the absolute elite of the warrior caste.   
From the ranks of beserkers each of the Khans would choose three lieutenants, each of whom would fight to eventual succeed their masters and become Khan themselves.  
With the fall of the gods, human/fauness sacrifice became far less common, though traditionalists and fanatics still engaged in the practice and it was not discouraged. It just simply was no longer necessary. One of the greatest changes was the dismissal of the restriction of shifting castes. Breeders were finally free to attempt to become builders or warriors, and slaves outsiders were even allowed to join the Breeders become full Albionea.  
It wouldn't be until the second crusade that the rest of the world would learn to fear the beserkers and more so the Khans above all savage might of Albion's arsenal. Late in the midst of the reign of the fourth Khans, the primordial fauness kingdom of Mesozoiclan, Albion's hated rival of old, was near collapse from continuous aggression from both Grimm and neighboring human kingdoms. Their envoys came to the Khans, pleading for aid, asking their greatest and most respected foes to give their people aid and even going so far as promising the secrets of breeding the terrible lizards.  
Though the warriors held a hatred for the victory against the Mesozoiclans denied them by the hands of the mage-priests, they were all too willing to ensure their rivals survived to be brought down by their hand and theirs alone. Yet, Albion was unable to save Mesozoiclan. When the forces of Albion reached the primal kingdom's dwindling borders, the city of Mesozoiclan was already burning, its forces shattered and armies of a alliance of lesser pure-blood kingdoms looting as they pleased.   
Enraged by the loss of their rival, the warriors of Albion fell on the the pure-bloods with horrific abandon, catching the sacking armies off guard and driving them from the ruined city.   
The Khan whom then wielded Hopebleeder, saw that perusing the pure-bloods would cost them any chance of salvaging the terrible lizards from the ruins of the kingdom and reined in the rampant warriors and focused them on rounding up any and all of the remaining Mesozoiclans and their beasts before retreating to inform the other Khans of Mesozoiclan's doom.  
The allied kingdoms that had ended Mesozoiclan's reign on Anima saw Albion's retreat as weakness. All too enthralled by the possibility to strike back at the black empire, they launched everything at Albion's nearby lands.   
However, the retreat of the Hopebleeder Khan was merely the calm before the storm. And the allies' attempt at retaliation was further fuel for the black empire's rage. Not only had the pure-bloods dared take a victory that was rightly that of Albion, but they thought themselves strong enough to wage war against Albion's birthright of ruling Remnant. There was only one answer to such ignorance and stupidity. It would be purged.  
Thus began the second crusade. Like at tidal wave, Albionea forces around the world drew back and surged forth towards the allied kingdoms of Anima in an unstoppable tide of wrath and ruin, the three Khans leading the charge. The allied forces had no warning and no idea what was coming. Not until Albionea juggernauts began razing coastal settlements, their knights shattering battle lines and their beserkers slaughtering allied soldiers in uncounted droves. The doomed kingdoms barely had time enough to send envoys before their cities were under siege. Their pitiful pleas fell on deaf ears. Yet there was one unexpected development during the second crusade. On the side of the pure-bloods were two women wielding power magic who actually managed to slow the Albionea advance and even gave the Khan a legitimate fight. Yet, the Hopebleeder Khan ran one of them through whilst the Hellsreach Khan drove the other away. Hopebleeder's trophy was put on display by the besieging army, drawing the other Maiden out for Hellsreach to finish the job before the crusade's bloodsoaked end.   
When all the screams had stopped, there was naught but ashes, burnt ruins and bloodied earth. To the modern age the region of those allied kingdoms has been haunted and Grimm infested from the horrors of Albion's total war. The populations of the few settlements lucky enough to be out of the way, saw the carnage and fled to the growing kingdom of Mystral and from there, stories spread of the devastation within Albion's power. Recognizing this, the king of Mystral sent tribute to the black empire, so as to dissuade the wrath of the Khans falling upon his kingdom next and maybe even convince them that other kingdoms would be better to raid. And it worked.  
As word spread of the second crusade and Mystral buying Albion's services, many other kingdoms would do the same, either to shift Albion's raids away from their lands, or to encourage the black empire to weaken or crush their foes, though the latter was an extreme option, as if Albion stepped into a conflict, there would be little remaining of their victim for their sponsor to claim victory over.  
And for a time, Albion was content. With these tributaries essentially paying for their raids and wars, wealth, resources and slaves poured into the city of citadels. Yet all was not well. The taint of Albion only continued to grow stronger, driving forth bloodlust and pride. And most dangerously of all...  
The gods endured.  
Heavenmourne, Hellsreach and Hopebleeder were unlike all endsingers that followed them in both power and the effect they had upon their wielders. Their power was unmatched with meant that they were passed onto the next Khan in the death of the former, yet there was a dark reason for this. Within the endsingers forged from their bones, the spirits of the gods were imprisoned, their whispers reaching the wielders through the bars of their prisons always beginning with their promise of vengeance.  
The evil that was once vanquished shall rise anew. Wrapped in the guise of man, shall we walk among you and terror/hatred/despair shall consume feed and dwell upon the earth. The skies shall rain fire and the seas will filled with blood. The light shall fall before the darkness and all the world will shatter before the endless power of our rage!  
To the first and each and every Khan after, those were the words of their coronation.   
Throughout the age of Khans, the three gods continuously worked to find a way to escape their prison, growing stronger with each passing of their wielders, feeding their victims' souls and taking vengeance on each and every Khan that died wield the gods' endsingers. Each of the gods came to the conclusion to use the taint to attempt to mold the Khan's bodies and minds into vessels which they could use to be reborn into the world. Yet, much to the gods' irritation, the system of succession would prove to be a set back. No Khan ever lived to die of old age. So, the god were forced to learn patience and practiced their manipulations as the taint strengthened through the generations that passed.   
It would be at the reign of the ninth Khans that the growing Albionea storm would finally break and nearly crush the world. The hidden whispers of the gods, the unchecked pride of the Albionea, the growing weight of the endless Grimm assault upon the Firewall and the bottomless consuming need for more resources and slaves. The entirety of the beserkers and a sizable amount of the regular warriors believed the world was theirs by right until the day of the endtimes.   
The inevitable storm would shape the map of the kingdoms in the century to come, leaving only Vale, Vacuo, Mantle and Mystral whilst the others would be ground to ashes or consumed by the Grimm.   
Whatever excuse Albion used is lost to time, but the war, or rather the Third Crusade would be remembered, even after the steps the four kingdoms would take. Albion declared all out war on the world, launching full-on invasions across Anima, Sanus and Solitas.   
The forces of the dark empire expected a quick and decisive win, yet almost immediately after the occupation of Mantle and the execution of the kingdom's magic wielding queen, the war turned into ten years of hell. The kingdoms of the purebloods forged an alliance of desperation against the armies of Albion and fought tooth and nail across the world. On the seas Albionea dreadnoughts fought against the hit and run attacks of the Mantle exile corsairs and skirmishes with Vale's fleet were frequent, yet neither side was able to for the other into a decisive naval battle. On land, the armies of Mystral, Vale and their lesser allies, boosted by expeditionary forces from Vacuo threw everything the had at stemming the Albionea tide. The very way of war changed throughout the Third Crusade as for the first time, fighting reached the very air as flying war machines were introduced by both sides. The Allied kingdoms created the earliest mechs in answer to the Albionea's terrible lizard warbeasts while Albion created tanks as high speed mobile battering rams to smash through fortifications. All the while in the midst of the bloodshed, the Grimm grew in number and strength. Entire kingdoms were overrun as the war brought ruin across the lands, and man had to contend with the monsters attacking them whilst they were butchering themselves. Yet, in this the Allies had a dark and unmatched advantage that would all but give them the war. This advantage was made clear in the siege of Mystral. For four months the Albionea fought to breach the city, but at the hour of their triumph, the Grimm fell upon the rear of the dark army, more than the Albionea could have ever expected. The Allied forces saw the Albionea moving to face the Grimm and attacked, catching the besieging army between the vengeful pure-bloods and the ravenous Grimm. Thus, Albion's decline began in proper as news spread between the Allies of Grimm being drawn towards Albion's forces more than their own. The more opportunistic, desperate, and wrathful of the Allies began to form plans to exploit that fact. Yet such tactics would no be accepted as necessary evils until the greatest and bloodiest battle of the the Third Crusade, the Battle of the Lost Hope. During the waning years of the war, before the liberation of Mantle, on the northeastern end of Sanus, on the once verdant fields of the Sunset Plains, the largest concentrations of both the Allies and Albion's forces gather and over the course of three blood-soaked months untold lives would be lost and insane battle would be waged between the Allies' legends, the Four Maidens and the Three Khans of Albion that would render the once beautiful and promising land into a wretched and haunted marsh of rot, decay and horror. Whilst the very elements of the world seemed to attempt to rip itself apart the armies of mortals threw themselves at each other with reckless abandon, neither giving nor asking any quarter as their war-machines laid waste to everything. Yet in fighting a war alone on so many fronts against man and Grimm, Albion broke first and was forced to retreat. The Allies saw this and charged the dark kingdom's faltering lines determined to crush the invaders once and for all. However one of the lieutenants of the Khans rallied the battered knights, tanks and beserkers in a suicidal charge that wiped out the forward elements of the Allied army and brutally savaged the rest before every last one was put down. Albion was able to withdraw, but now was caught on the back foot for the remainder of the war. Meanwhile the Allies counted the cost of the battle and concluded that they would use the Grimm, to avoid any further battles like the Battle of the Lost Hope.  
The tactics the Allies used generally revolved around luring the Grimm towards any and all Albionea forces and then when the enemy was fighting the Grimm, the Allies would either trap or simply butcher the Albionea. In essence, the Allied Kingdoms fed the Albionea to the Grimm. And for the first time in its bloody history, Albion had no response. They couldn't, because due to their culture, their beliefs and mindsets, the Albionea were beacons to the Grimm.  
Enraged by this helplessness and the loss of ground, the Albionea also realized that they were losing. So in utter hate and spite, they decided that if they couldn't have the world, no one would. As Albion began pulling back, the dark empire's retreat left nothing but burning ruins, poisoned wells and vicious traps. Mantle was barely liberated before the Albionea put it to the torch.   
Despite the campaign of ruin, it was less than a year before Albion's final stronghold outside of the city of citadels itself was the might fortress of Ravenhead, the defenses of which were second only to Albion itself and possibly may have even turned the war back in the dark kingdom's favor had the Allies dared to assault it. Aware of the fortress's might, the Allies instead lured in the Grimm. A horde of unspeakable number descended on Ravenhead's defenses and for over a week, the fortress held the monsters at bay while Albion's weakened fleet attempted to save it. Yet the Allies were intent on ending the war, and Ravenhead was a threat to any attempt to invade the city of citadels. The Allied navies caught the Albionea fleet on the open seas and in a brutal battle, crushed the tired and battered juggernauts before turning to finish off Ravenhead. The navies were forced to help the Grimm as the fortress refused to fall. Only after another week of endless Grimm assault and continuous naval bombardment by the Allies did Ravenhead finally fall.  
The fortress was completely enveloped in the black fog of disintegrating Grimm, and after sending a scouting party into the fortress, the Allies, using the power of a Maiden, well placed charges and their naval artillery buried the ruins beneath the earth and sea. Perhaps it was out of spite of the Albionea “monsters” or to hide the uncountable bodies of the slaves and innocents that had been hiding in the fortress to stay safe. None can say.  
The final stage of this war of annihilation was set, with Albion's navy all but destroyed, the dark kingdom's heart was at long last vulnerable. All that was left was to end the reign of the Khans and either force Albion's complete and unconditional surrender or wipe them out entirely, yet that was a feat easier said than done. After all, with the knowledge gained from descriptions of those who brought tribute to the city itself, the Allied lords, commanders and kings knew that the city of citadels had more than earned its name. Scouts told them their greatest fears, that a landing outside the city was impossible as there were mountains to the city's east and the Grimm infested hellscape of the wastes before the Firewall to the northwest. The only possible landing point for the Allies was to dive right into the teeth of Albion's defenses.  
While preparations were made for the largest invasion force ever assembled, the Allied navies began the blockade of Albion, attempting to weaken the defenses with long range bombardments while avoiding Albion's replies to mixed success. In the end, the Allied kingdoms were forced to launch the invasion before they were fully prepared due to the losses the coastal batteries were inflicting and the worsening weather gathering around the island.   
Yet, Albion's fate would forever be lost to the world, as the Allied forces attempting to catch up to the main thrusts of the invasion found their communication with the main force cut off suddenly, after receiving reports of strange weather and horrendous sounds. Then there was naught but static, broken only by a single scream of monstrous dragons of lightning, water and fire consuming everyone and everything, then there was silence. The lagging forces would find the area where the island of Albion once had been to be completely consumed by a massive raging storm. All attempts to reestablish communication with the rest of the invasion force met with failure and all scouting parties sent into the storm never returned.  
When the storm refused to break after a year and all options to enter and exit safely were exhausted, the Allied kingdoms met to discuss the Third Crusade's end and the losses suffered. The storm had claimed Albion and around seventy percent of the entire invasion force which had consisted of well over a million souls. The lack of a decisive and confirmed victory made things difficult enough, but the shear fear of Albion's potential return drew the Grimm in such numbers that the last remaining lesser kingdoms were overrun, while Vale, Mystral and Mantle were hard pressed to defend their borders. Vacuo had less problems, as due to their location they had suffered little of Albion's depredations compared to the rest of the world, yet a drastic and unpopular decision was reached.   
Albion would be purged from all records and forgotten and the cause of such death would be lain at the feet of the Grimm and an imagined plague. The choice was pushed as most believed that Albion now rested on the ocean floor beneath the Cursed Storm. The only opposition came from Mantle, as the kingdom had suffered greatly under its occupation and its king whom was the son of the queen at Mantle's fall found the decision of the other kingdoms to be a slap in the face, to himself, those who fought and those who died. Yet despite Mantle's anger, the other kingdoms moved forward with their plan, purging all records and forbidding any talk of the cursed kingdom. Within the course of twenty years, Albion had been reduced to little more than a bedtime story, a kingdom that worshiped the Grimm and were punished by the gods. Only Mantle remembered, and even then it was like a fading nightmare, which was ultimately sealed away with a black library when the Grimm attack that would begin the Great War occurred.  
Now in the modern age, the blood of Albion still exists in faint stains among the various bandit tribes of Remnant and as for the city itself it is all but forgotten, the Cursed Storm raging without end over where the strongest kingdom once reigned.   
There are stories, from ships that sailed to close to the storm by accident or by foolishness. Stories of black shadows in the water being drawn into the storm. Stories of uncounted flocks of Grimm flying into the ominous clouds. Stories of mad captains disappearing. Stories of continuous blasts of noise too constant to be just thunder. Stories of a great bell ringing out from the elemental prison.  
But what are stories?  
None can truly say if Albion endures.  
Aurthor's bit. Oh procrastination thou art.... Well Merry extremely belated Christmas!   
Self-loathing aside I hope you all enjoyed this tale. It's rather different from most stories I've written, hopefully that doesn't detract too badly. But yea, this is the kingdom that I'd thought up, and it was really interesting figuring out its history and making sense of why the kingdom would be forgotten. Anyways, all criticisms of this experiment are welcome. Ideally I should have something up again soon and until then.  
#Albion Endures  
One huehuehuehuing edge-lord  
AC-107


	4. Arthred

There was no escaping the screams, even as Arthred woke screaming his own lungs out. Just in time to catch a beowolf trying to turn him into a meal. Instinct, reflexes and experience instantly kicked in, his left hand in its clawed gauntlet catching the monstrous mutt's throat and his right hand catching the lower jaw. Arthred’s scream faded into a snarl as he savagely twisted his hand throttling the Grimm, snapping its neck. The beowolf fell limp and silent to Arthred's side as the young man immediately tapped into darker senses looking to see if there were any other Grimm looking for a meal, all while stealing his negative emotions deep within along with the endless chorus that was his nightmares. He was enough of a beacon to the things without actively ringing the dinner bell.  
Luck was on his side for the time being, as the nearby monstrous presences were being drawn towards his destination. It seemed that the beowolf had been alone on its own track.  
“Right then. Hello breakfast.” He muttered with dark amusement. With no nearby threats, Arthred knelt besides the already dissipating Grimm and stabbed his gauntlet's claws into it, after which he directed a controlled burst of his aura into the corpse of the soulless monster, filling the black void of the thing's existence and binding it in a physical state for a time.  
With the threat of his breakfast disappearing into thin air dealt with, Arthred walked over to where his bike, which was essentially a heavily armored and armed mobile battering ram fondly named Nemesis, had fallen after his exhaustion had hit him like a truck and made him pass out.  
“Business as usual...” He muttered as he hauled the metal beast off its side and hit the switch that controlled the stand mechanism and opened up the storage compartment for his weapon, a massive greatsword named Bliztscream. With a the same practiced ease as breathing, Arthred carved up his meal and returned his weapon to its storage in Nemesis. Tearing into the his breakfast, the dark fighter looked in the direction the other Grimm were heading. Judging from the increasing amount he could sense, Arthred had to be getting close. His scars, notably the only visible ones, diagonal triple claw marks down the left side of his face, itched uncomfortably from the prospect of going towards the monsters' destination.  
Pulling the hood of his old patchwork armored trench coat over his the wild mane of storm gray hair, Arthred shook his head. The weather was overcast, but hardly anything worth the hood for a normal person, but it suited Athred.  
According to the one he was here for, Arthred would not have too much trouble from the Grimm and more than likely, the thing he was looking for would find him, making his search of the ruins that much faster. She had been quite certain, and given what little he knew, Arthred wasn't about to question her. Yet, he was all too familiar with things going wrong real quick, and of course there was his past experience.  
“Alright, just gotta make sure I don't kill the thing I was sent to grab. What could possibly go wrong?” He was certainly in the habit of talking to himself, but he was far from alone and fortunately the Other was not interested, for the moment. Arthred finished up his meal and mounted up, revving Nemesis' engine.  
With its unearthly howl, Nemesis tore its way towards the ruins of Beacon.  
XXX  
Cans, casings, shards rattled and clinked in a maddened symphony of chaos, beneath it Glynda Goodwitch could hear the bone rattle, its rattle, her rattle, of the monster that hunted her.  
“Shikashikashika-”  
With every rapid pulse of her frantically beating heart, the scratches, bruises and the gash on her left side throbbed. But Glynda didn't dare use her aura to heal herself, she could afford to, the thing that hunted her would punish even the slightest misstep. Leaning against a half-collapsed pillar, Glynda desperately tried to quiet her breathing. It wasn't to hide, there was no point. It, no, she was already nearly on top of the injured and exhausted huntress.  
Before encountering her, Glynda had certainly believed in many things. But ghosts had not been among them. Now, she wasn't so sure.  
“Don't look at meeeeeeee.” The twisted taunting warning came from the darkened shadows to Glynda's left. The huntress had less than a second to throw herself out of the way as a mass of various weapon shards, mecha pieces and various other metal debris slammed into where Glynda had been attempting to catch her breath. There was a flap of leathery wings and an eager hiss. The huntress threw up her riding crop, focusing her telekinesis in a net around her. It was barely enough to stop the scrap metal javelin mere inches from her chest. The effort took more from her than she wanted, but it was a display that was clearly more than the Gorgon had anticipated. Almost as though it had a will of its own, the scrap metal mockery flew back to its twisted owner, Glynda caught a glimpse of a red bat-like wing and a flash of the red and green eyes of the Weeping Gorgon as it pulled back into the ruins.  
It wouldn't be long before she returned though and her attacks had been becoming more frequent and ferocious. It seemed as though the Gorgon was getting impatient. Though at this point, it was only a matter of time before Glynda made the one fatal error. There was no telling what state her hunter was in, but the huntress knew for a fact that she was running out of time.  
The Gorgon had to be dealt with. The way in which she had wiped out other hunters had proven she was too dangerous a monster to live. Glynda only hoped that her warning had been received.  
XXX  
Arthred had left Nemesis behind near the outskirts. He hadn't built the bike to be subtle after all, and again, he was going into the heart of a Grimm infestation, distracted as they might be with whatever it was the monsters searched for.  
Making his way into Beacon had been easy enough at first, but then Arthred had run into a slight hiccup.  
“Care to explain what you're doing here? You're far too confident to be a mere scavenger.” An old looking short portly man in a well tailored burgundy suit armed with an fashioned blunderbuss with an axe-head on the butt of the weapon challenged Arthred, and he wasn't alone.  
Arthred had Bliztscream at the ready, though he hadn't drawn his blade yet. “I could ask the same. Aren't the elderly meant to go first?” This encounter was a waste of time, but the only option besides it was to fall back and come back later, which Arthred did not have the patience for.  
“I believe the term you want is respect your elders, boy.”  
It also didn't help that Arthred wasn't fond of talking. “Then with no respect, you first.”  
“I have a gun.”  
“And fancy mustache to go with it. I'm sure the Grimm all around us will love to come for a closer look when you ring that dinner bell.”  
“Well aren't you a-”  
“Pete.” A blond man, appearing about maybe his thirties, dressed in a brown vest over a shirt and brown cargo shorts. Judging by the only armor he wore being on a metal spaulder and a leather vambrace all on his right arm, the guy appeared to be a confident brawler of some sort. “We could honestly use some help, and I'm willing to bet he could use some too. Whatever attacked Glynda's group has to still be around.”  
“Taiyang has a point Pete.” Arthred nearly lashed out at the sudden appearance of the third member of the hunters. A tall, even by Arthred’s measure, thin man wearing a long brown gray coat, with a buttoned safari shirt underneath with an oversized backpack. “Still, it would be best if you explained what you're doing here alone, young man.”  
Arthred eyed the huntsmen, if a fight broke out, his odds were bad saying the least. For now it was better to take Taiyang's offer. So only the truth, to an extent would do. “I was sent to retrieve something in the ruins. I'm guessing you lot are here for a similar reason?”  
“Strange that a request wasn't sent to huntsmen.” Mustache commented. Arthred gestured around in response.  
“Considering what happened here at the place for training hunters, not really.”  
Taiyang interceded before Mustache could retort. “You might have a point, but this really isn't the best time for any of us to get into a argument right now.” He held a hand out to Arthred. “As you might have guessed, I'm Taiyang Shal Long. The man with the fancy mustache you pointed out is Professor Peter Port. And the guy with the glasses is Professor Bartholomew Oobleck.”  
“Doctor!” Oobleck interjected.  
“Sorry.”  
“Quilldrake, Arthred Quilldrake.” His hood shifted as he looked at Taiyang, who suddenly looked surprised.  
“Nice to meet you... Huh, didn't realize you had silver eyes.”  
“Hmm, Quilldrake, I remember that name somewhere...” Oobleck murmured to himself.  
Arthred raised his eyebrows in surprise. That comment came out of nowhere. “And that's relevant how?”  
Realizing that Arthred wasn't the handshaking type, Taiyang took it back and scratched his head awkwardly. “Sorry, its just rather rare and it reminded me of one of my daughters.” Meanwhile Oobleck didn't go into detail concerning his own comment.  
Arthred blinked, Taiyang did not strike him as a father.  
“And I still think you should have brought your dog, like Ruby did in Mountain Glenn. It would make finding Glynda much easier.” Oobleck stated. He unintentionally revealed what the hunters were doing here in the process.  
With a shake of his head, Taiyang groaned. “I already told you, Bart. I already talked to Ruby about that, and I am not getting into another explanation here!”  
Not interested in wasting time, Arthred started to move past them.  
“What are you doing, young man?” Port asked, shifting his gun.  
“Moving along, I never said no to your friend's suggestion.” For now it would work, preferably to the point where they found this Glynda person before they found his target. Things would get interesting after that. “Or do you want to wait for the person you're here for to save themselves?”  
“You're not much of a people person are you.” Taiyang commented as they began to move into the ruins.  
“You're people, you tell me.” Arthred answered, he could sense a small group of Grimm drawing close and drew Bliztscream, resting the greatsword on his right shoulder.  
Thankfully the Grimm were more than enough of a distraction to end that conversation and from there on he only had to worry about the cringe worthy times where Port nearly started telling stories about himself, though thankfully both Taiyang and Oobleck stopped him. It was strange, being around people, especially people who actually treated him normal, almost to the point where Arthred caught himself almost lowering his guard around the huntsmen. Hell, he even cracked genuine smile when Port jumped at seeing a mouse.  
Yet that feeling quickly dissipated with more speed than dying light with an unusual discovery. It was near a former dormitory when Arthred was knocked through a broken window by an ursa's swipe he'd misjudged. Pushing himself off the floor, Arthred quickly readied to go back on the offense, yet instead, the ursa almost seemed to attempt to flee the area. At least before getting hamstrung by Port's ax.  
Curious as to why the Grimm apparently tried to flee Arthred glanced around, and immediately stopped to read what was carved into the walls of the room.  
DON'T LOOK! WHAT AM- WHAT I I I I... DON'T LOOK. The walls of the room were carved with further words like that.  
“You alright, Arthred?” Taiyang came to check on him. “That looked like ahhhh.....okay......” He trailed off as he saw the room, even as dimly lit by the overcast sky as it was. “That is definitely new. Peter, Bart, you guys might want to take a look at this.”  
Arthred looked around, it looked as though the room had been made into a home, a nest, a roost, something along those lines. There was a stained mattress on the floor surrounded in a ring of scrap metal, with several round objects lying on it and a shattered mirror lying where it had been thrown.  
“Do you think a survivor was hiding here?”  
“If so, they were clearly... disturbed to say the least.”  
Arthred twitched as he began to feel a strange new somewhat muted Grimm presence a distance away, all while going through a few facts. The ursa had been trying to flee this place, but why? There was only one thing that Arthred knew the Grimm would fear and he also new that that monster was, for moment, not interested in coming out to play. So that begged the question, what else was there to frighten the Grimm? While these thoughts were going through his mind, Arthred felt his boot hit something like a heavy ball. Glancing at what he hit, Arthred stopped.  
“Whoever they are they left 'disturbed' behind a while back.” He said, picking up the somewhat gnawed and decayed head he'd just kicked. There wasn't much left that could identify the former owner, aside from the blonde mop of hair that remained, almost as though it had been brushed and maintained. Looking back at the bed, which he now recognized the stains as blood, the other round objects were skulls as well... and as he took a moment to note, all of them were blondes.  
“By the gods...” Port muttered.  
“We need to find Glynda now.” Taiyangs voice was filled with worry and unease was clear on the faces of him and his companions, their good humor was now all but gone.  
There was an inhuman shriek in the distance, from the direction that Arthred sensed the strange Grimm. Dropping the head, Arthred and the others ran towards it, certain that the person they were looking for was the cause of the disturbance.  
They came at last to a darkened, ruined dance hall. Under the darkening clouds they heard a woman scream in pain.  
Arthred grimaced as he felt the darkness shift a little behind the wall of numbness that he was shielding himself with. The chorus that haunted him got a little louder as that scream joined it. Without thinking, simply determined to prevent further screams joining the chorus, Arthred put on an extra burst of speed and charged through a window into the building.  
At the center of the dance hall, a badly injured blonde woman lay on the ground, while a black humanoid form with great dragon wings and a ponytail of red hair that morphed into a black rattlesnake tail had a scrap iron spear poised for the kill. Bliztscream let out a light shriek as it swung towards the monster. The thing reacted blocking the blow with a round shield of melded metal, yet the weight of Bliztscream's swing forced the Grimm-creature away from its victim. Arthred had to avoid landing on the person he'd just saved, which gave the unknown monster a chance to retreat with an enraged howl. As it fled, Arthred glimpsed its two pairs of eyes, the hate filled red and the horrified weeping green.  
“DON'T LOOK AT ME!” It screamed in a surprisingly female voice.  
“Glynda!” Dr. Oobleck appeared at the badly wounded woman's side. “Peter, Taiyang, make sure we're safe!”  
“What in the name of the gods was that?” Port exclaimed.  
Arthred found himself blinking away his aroused bloodlust in surprise. “Wait, you've never seen anything like that, Port?”  
The elder huntsman looked shaken, for the first time the mask of confidence had fallen away. “There's never been such an abomination in existence.”  
That statement settled the last of Arthred's uncertainty concerning what he was looking for. “Guess that's one hard part down.” He whispered quietly. From here on, things would only go downhill. The one who had sent him had been right, he would know what he was looking for, something that belonged with the memories that were not his own.  
“The...only way we'll be....safe. Is when that- ah- monster....is dead.” Glynda gasped. “What are... you doing... here..gah?!  
“Easy there, it's going to be a trip to get you out past all the Grimm like this.” Oobleck quickly found a first aid kit in his oversized backpack and was tending to her wounds.  
The creature hadn't gone far, Arthred could feel it close by, he kept his eyes peeled, moving away from the other hunters. The monster had chosen to flee rather than fight when it encountered more than just its prey, so Arthred was more than willing to bet that it was an ambush predator that liked to pick off its targets. If he could lure it away...  
Meanwhile, Glynda explained to the others that the message she'd sent, hadn't been a call for help, but a warning. “That thing... she should not be..... She killed everyone else in my group... when we...”  
“It's alright, we've got you, we're gonna get you out.” Taiyang said moving closer to Arthred. “Arthred, now would be a very good time to let us know what it is you're looking for so we can get it and get out of here.”  
“What?” Arthred hadn't expected Taiyang to stick around once they'd found the person they had been looking for. If anything he had been think of how to slip away. In fact Arthred was startled enough by Taiyang that he lost track of the monster. “I found it just now but...”  
There was another inhuman shriek as the monster returned. A circular object spun through the air at a lethal speed, slashing through a hanging chandelier above and sending the broken light falling down towards Oobleck and Glynda. The Doctor managed to get both himself and Glynda out of harm's way, but the creature wasn't done yet. Clearly its patience had run out as it rushed out from its hiding place. The creature's wings flashed dark red from the shadows and its spear flew through the air towards Oobleck while the beast leapt at Taiyang. Arthred swung his blade at the creature's leaping form, but he felt Bliztscream being shoved away from the monster by an invisible force, causing him to miss. However Taiyang was able to handle himself even as the monster shrieked its strange cry, “You looked at me!!!” and slashed at him with its claws and buffeted him with its wings.  
The huntsman weathered the creature's assault and fell back as the monster's spear flew back to its hand at the almost perfect moment to block Arthred's overhand strike. The monster turned its four eyes on Arthred, allowing him to full see the creature in its, or rather, her full horrifying visage.  
The creature's torso was covered in a low v neck breastplate bone armor. Just above the v of the armor, where the creature's heart would have been had she been human was piece of bone jutting out like a broken arrow. Strange high-heeled clawed feet that were a twisted fusion of human and dragon with further bony growths jutting out like greaves reached up her legs. Her arms were covered with pieces of scrap metal armor. For a Grimm, her mask was particularly haunting, the red weeping liquid that came from the pair of green eyes while the red pair were filled to the brim with hate filled madness.  
Within Arthred's mind, the Other stirred. “Ah, an interesting Grimmspawn variant...” He referred to the name of the monsters within one of the nightmares he tormented Arthred with.  
Again the invisible force tugged at Bliztscream, breaking the lock between Arthred’s weapon and the Grimmspawn’s, allowing the creature to use her wings to flip over the hooded swordsman, avoiding Taiyang’s attempt to hit her from behind. As the Grimmspawn landed, Arthred spun, dismissing the urge to strike at the creature’s exposed limbs. A good thing, as the Grimmspawn made a motion as though she was tugging at something, which was quickly followed by a surprised cry of pain from Port. Instinct kicked in and Arthred and caught the vicious spinning scrap iron shield with his gauntlet, leaving his back apparently wide open wide open. A fact he was banking on which his quarry couldn’t possibly resist.  
“Miss Nikos??!” The Grimmspawn let out a pained and hate filled shriek at the name that Oobleck gasped and retreated back up a set of stairs that led to a platform overlooking the dancefloor. Using her power, her semblance Arthred now realized, she ripped her shield from the swordman’s grasp. He grit his teeth and silently cursed Oobleck for driving ‘Nikos’ away. If Arthred’s risk had worked, than the Grimmspawn might have been incapacitated.  
“Nononono. No. NO!” She shrieked in anger and despair, dark red aura flickering wildly around her body. All around the humans, various metal objects shuddered, rocked and even lifted from the ground. Arthred felt the Grimmspawn’s semblance tugging at Bliztscream and the few metal portions of his armor, such as his shoulder patrons, his gauntlet, bracers and greaves. This time though, the tugging was noticeable weaker and random.  
Arthred couldn't help but sympathize with the Grimmspawn a little. She was a twisted mockery, cursed with power she could not understand and worse still, she was aware of it to some extent. Such dark pain was beginning to attract the attention of the proper Grimm, Arthred was starting to add to the dinner bell himself, as the mental wall he had put up was weakening rapidly. Even if there were thing monsters feared, the prospect of food almost always won out sooner or later.  
“That Gorgon, isn’t her… She has to be destroyed.” Glynda managed, trying to stand failing, only able to stand with Port’s assistance. Port himself was clutching at a bloodstain on his right side, where the shield must have slashed him when the Gorgon had recalled the scrap shield the first time.  
“Go, I’ve got this.” Arthred said. If they got out now then…  
“Pete, get Glynda to the ship, I'll stay and handle this.” Taiyang stepped forward stretching his arms.  
“I said-" Arthred started to growl, clenching his free hand.  
“We heard you, young man.” Oobleck stated, cutting Arthred off. “However we have a duty as huntsmen here. You should fall back with Peter.”  
Arthred was barely able to keep his curses silent. The last thing he needed now was the hunters interfering. Yet, letting out a short frustrated breath, Arthred adjusted to this predicament. There was no way to avoid it now, so he started to unlock the barriers in his mind, as there was no longer any point in holding back and he also needed to start ringing the dinner bell properly. “Not a chance. Especially not when my prey is right in front of me.” His eyes rested on the Gorgon where she was recovering on her perch.  
She noticed the injured hunters attempting to retreat. “NO! He's mine!” The Gorgon shrieked spreading her red wings. Metal rose around her and with a flap of her wings, the Grimmspawn attacked, the metal rushing forward like a deadly rain of nevermore feathers while she launched herself towards her quarry. As she did so, various remaining lights in the hall flickered to dim and broken life, as the creature’s semblance must have accidentally activated a power switch close by. Yet, the Gorgon had underestimated her opponents.  
Arthred slashed Bliztscream before him, knocking away a good amount of the metal projectiles, while Oobleck knocked away the remaining threatening ones and Taiyang intercepted the beast. The Gorgon screamed in once again, “Don’t look-!” and was cut off as Taiyang’s fist slammed into her shield, knocking her back and giving Port and Goodwitch time to get out. Where she landed, Oobleck kept up the pressure with several hit and runs attacks, hitting the Grimmspawn at multiple angles with his insane speed. But the Gorgon managed to withstand them, showing a surprising amount of skill and human combat tactics. Arthred charged in with Bliztscream coming down in a heavy overhead swing. The monster tried to block with her shield, but the sword was far heavier than Oobleck’s thermos and crunched into the scrap iron beneath it. The Gorgon managed to recognize her mistake and angled her shield to reduce the damage as much as she could. Instead of biting into the shield and mangling her arm, Bliztscream sheared off a chunk of metal and kept going and crashed into the floor, sending up a cloud of dust and a brutal jolt up Arthred’s arm and charging up the weapon from the force of the impact. Guided by experience and the siren song of his bloodlust, Arthred was already moving with the momentum of his attack though and spun forward counter-clockwise, bringing his closed gauntlet slamming into the Gorgon's face with a ferocious backhand blow. The Grimmspawn used her semblance to lessen the blow, and it was enough to allow her to evade Arthred’s slashing follow ups as the swordsman whirled around in a storm of blade and savagery.  
Arthred snarled, the Gorgon’s semblance wasn’t just irritating, but what mind the creature had knew how to use it too. Most of his attacks had missed, though the kinetic force of the abuse he put his weapon through was adding up.  
The fight progressed further and more and more turned against the Gorgon, when she fell back from Arthred’s assaults, which were so wild and savage they prevented his allies from helping his attacks, she was vulnerable to the combined teamwork of Oobleck, who’d strike fast and quick, occupying her and Taiyang who got some powerful hits in. Even with her martial skills, semblance and inhuman attributes, the Grimmspawn was soon backed into a corner, during which a weakness in the creature manifested. The longer they fought, the more aggressive, erratic and desperate she became, all the while she screamed, hissed, almost to the point sounding like she was pleading, not to be looked at. One such attack left her all but completely defenseless. She lunged at Taiyang slashing wildly, not even noticing as Arthred closed in and swung Bliztscream. Mid-swing Arthred realized he’d managed to blindside the Gorgon and his swing would kill her in her weakened state. He barely managed to tilt his arm so that the flat of Bliztscream’s blade struck her in the chest. Her red aura briefly flared, and broke and Arthred heard more than a few things go crunch as she went hurtling across the room. She skidded to a stop on her side with one of her wings obviously broken. Despite the damage that had been inflicted, the Gorgon still held onto her spear and used it to try to force herself to her feet, coughing and gasping. She almost succeeded, but one of her legs was bent at an odd angle, making her drop to her knees. Even if ‘Nikos’ refused to accept it, she was done, and everyone knew it.  
Arthred could feel the nearby Grimm starting to swarm and draw near. But not fast enough to stop Oobleck and Taiyang from finishing off the Gorgon. If Arthred was going to act, had to be now. Though Bliztscream wasn't fully charged, it had enough to get a few shots out. He raised his sword, activating it's thunderclap form. Taiyang moved to finish off the Grimmspawn. Under his breath, in an old and dark tongue, he uttered the beginning a black prayer.  
“Only in death is there true peace, in this truth I find despair.”  
She looked up at her executioner, an unknowable mix of emotions twisting on the face beneath the monstrous mask. Her armor was cracked and the bone point over her heart seemed to protrude more obvious than ever. She gasped a pitiful attempt at a hiss. “Don’t-”  
As Taiyang readied his blow, Arthred raised Bliztscream, the blade splitting down the middle and electricity crackling down its length, the groan of condensed and charging energy rising from the unstable lightning dust crystal that powered the weapon. He aimed, and squeezed the trigger.  
Oobleck realized what Arthred was doing. “Taiyang!” He shouted in warning, less than a second before Bliztscream roared, its railgun blasting out a warning shot that shrieked past Taiyang and the Gorgon, leaving a smoking hole in the wall beyond. Arthred allowed the recoil to slam Bliztscream around towards the ground while the blast of air from the gun blew back his hood and tugged at his mess of storm gray hair.  
Astonished by his sudden betrayal, Taiyang and Oobleck looked at him, speechless, so Arthred cut to the chase. “Go now, the one who sent me, she needs that, alive.” The noise of Bliztscream had perked the investigating Grimm, now they were properly on their way.  
“What? Who would….?” Taiyang stammered. Oobleck’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses as he figured out whom Arthred served.  
“She… Salem.” The air grew heavy, cold and dark at the witch’s name. Arthred nodded, keeping track of the approaching Grimm, waiting on the hunters’ next move.  
Oobleck’s eyes darted at the injured Gorgon, the only warning Arthred had before the huntsmen dashed at the Grimmspawn. Yet the dark swordsman had expected as much. He charged and fired Bliztscream behind him, this time letting the recoil blast him forward.  
Jolts of electricity from Bliztscream’s dust crystal zapped Arthred, but he felt no pain as his semblance, Battery absorbed it. With Battery, Arthred could manipulate electricity in contact with his body at will and use it in many ways. In this instance he increased charge he absorbed and invested it to boost his reflexes and reaction time.  
He swung wide, switching Bliztscream back to its default mode, aiming in the area above the downed Grimmspawn. She flinched as the blade soared just over her head, forcing Oobleck back while Arthred spun and skidded to a halt, facing his enemies.  
“From despair I learn to harden my heart, so I may crush the hearts of my foes and embrace hate.”  
Arthred narrowed his eyes as Taiyang hesitantly took a stance against him. In his mind, Arthred use the first of his curses to try to predict what moves Taiyang and Oobleck might use against him. All the while, his senses ticked down as small pieces of debris started to shake and rattle. Five… Four… Arthred smiled bitterly. “Time's up.”  
All around the four, a horde of Grimm smashed through shattered windows, broke through cracked walls, pour into the hall in a black tide of ravenous white teeth and hateful red eyes. It was a scene Arthred was all too intimately familiar with.  
Multiple beowolves leaped at the dark swordsman from behind, drawn by his well of negativity that had lured them. Bliztscream scream carved through the neck of two and bit deep into the chest of another, which was knocked into a fourth by the blade's momentum as Arthred swung his weapon around and kept the power going into his charge.  
The Grimm continued in, engaging both Oobleck and Taiyang and ignoring the injured Gorgon, was knocked aside in the onrush of monsters.  
In a straight fight against the huntsmen, Arthred had no chance. They'd outnumbered him two to one and though the Grimm now negated that advantage, it was far from a fair fight or better, an unfair fight in Arthred’s favor. It only really put a wild card into play. Yet it was better than nothing, and ensured that the hunters couldn't focus solely on him, even as he couldn't return the favor.  
Another factor against Arthred was the hunters had years of training and experience under their belts. That point was made abundantly clear when Taiyang, while fending off an ursa, avoided Arthred’s attack and countered. Only Arthred’s memory of Taiyang’s moves allowed him to avoid the worst of it, only taking a few glancing blows. They still felt like hits from a sledgehammer, even through Arthred's aura.  
Dispatching his attackers, Taiyang pushed his advantage against Arthred, closing the distance and sending in a barrage of punches and kicks that kept the dark fighter unable to recover, ending when Bliztscream was sent flying from his hand and Taiyang’s knuckle crashed into his jaw, splitting his lip and making stars dance across Arthred’s vision.  
As he tasted iron in his mouth, a detail popped into Arthred’s dazed mind. Taiyang's attacks had not been lethal, it was almost as if the huntsman was aiming to knock him out. And if he took another combo like that, Taiyang would succeed.  
That would have been the case had a beowolf not crashed into Arthred, knocking away from Taiyang while it tried to turn him into dinner.  
“In hatred I curse this world, spitting upon those that made it and gaining the strength to break the bodies of my foes and become terror.”  
Across his chest, back and right arm, Arthred’s skin crawled and burned as the second of his curses activated and the taint and its power spread through his body and blood, sending a rush of euphoria through the Proto-berserker’s body.  
The time it took to get back on his feet while ripping the monster’s throat out allowed Arthred to blink away the swimming stars and meet Taiyangs next attack with something the hunter never expected. One of his own moves. Going entirely off his accursed photogenic memory, Arthred replicated a move Taiyang had used during their search of the ruins, throwing his attacker over his back, using their momentum to slam them into the ground and following it up immediately with a finishing strike.  
“Wha-oomph!” Though at best all Arthred could pull off was a shadow, as he had neither the practice nor the muscle memory, the sheer shock for Taiyang having one of his own moves used against him out of nowhere made the it work as far as slamming him into the ground was concerned, though the hunter recovered as Arthred’s claws bit into the floor where his head had been a mere moment before. Arthred briefly considered pushing his luck and trying to follow it up with further moves he’d seen. However seeing how fast the hunter had recovered, forced the dark fighter to acknowledge that he needed Bliztscream charged as much as he could in the chaos.  
Another factor introduced itself as something slammed into the back of Arthred’s head, sending sparks flaring across his vision once more and staggering him. He lashed out blindly with his clawed gauntlet, catching sight of Oobleck avoiding it with ease. More Grimm prevented the Doctor from ending the fight. Arthred’s enhanced reaction speed allowed him to evade and get back to his sword while his aura recovered and repaired the damage. Angry with himself for tunneling on Taiyang, Arthred slammed Bliztscream against the floor with a roar of rage, getting the weapon’s charge back up to over thirty percent, nowhere near enough.  
Once again he and Taiyang found themselves engaged, this time though it was a proper fight, as Arthred focused on abusing the range Bliztscream’s blade gave him over Taiyang's fists. This engagement ended when Arthred felt a Beowulf launch itself towards his back. Arthred charged Taiyang, dropping to his knees in a skid as the brawler fell for his feint, skidding by and spinning around, slashing at the beasts that had been approaching the hunter from behind while the hunter was suddenly introduced to the other attacking monster. Whirling to face his enemy, he saw the beowolf getting to its feet after being sidestepped by Taiyang, putting it between him and Arthred. The dark fighter couldn't suppress a savage grin as he charged and ran the monster through, trying to hit Taiyang at the same time.  
“Woah!” The brawler fell back, startled but unharmed, forcing the dark fighter to adapt. Giving Bliztscream a twist to end the mortally wounded beowolf, Arthred swung the beast’s dissolving corpse at the living members of it's kind as a massive morbid war hammer. In all honesty, Arthred couldn't help but smile madly as he beat more than a few Grimm to death with the beowolf’s corpse.  
Yet all good things are fleeting. An alpha ursa charged Arthred. He met the Grimm’s swipe with a swing of his own, the beowolf’s corpse finally succumbing to the abuse and falling to pieces of dissipating meat. Both Arthred and the ursa staggered back, but he recovered before the monster and swung again. Bliztscream hewing the beast’s arm in half. With another swing, the alpha’s neck followed suit.  
Immediately after, once more Arthred found himself engaged against Oobleck. He managed to fend off enough of the Doctor’s attacks to charge Bliztscream up past three fourths of its charge, but the huntsman broke though his attacks and slammed his weapon into Arthred’s chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs and forcing him to his knees. Oobleck followed up with a blow to Arthred’s head that sent him rolling, slamming into a wall. In the process be lost his grip on Bliztscream once again.  
“As terror, I accept the inevitable, freeing myself from the lie of hope, and so shatter the minds of all who cling to such delusions.”  
Darkness crept into Arthred’s vision while his newly acquired welts and bruises throbbed across his body as his aura healed them. Before he could recover, the Grimm were on him. Fangs dug past his bracers and into his wrist and gnawed and tugged at his ankles while claws bit into his chest as the monsters tried to tear him apart. The darkness at the edge of his vision and the monsters holding him down triggered one of Arthred’s worst memories. His eyes went wide and his breath became shallow as he felt panic swell within him and remembered the feeling of hands clasping his throat and suffocating any scream that might attempt to escape.  
“Mother.” He gasped, a tear slipping from his eye.  
Dangerously quiet as the wind dying before the storm, the Other spoke with the angry promise of violent destruction. “Vessel, do I have to clean up your mess?”  
The hellish images from the tomb vanished, the hands strangling his throat vanished back into the past and Arthred’s panic was stilled by the Other’s irritation, his heart squeezed by the terror that was promised if the Other was forced to take matters into his own hands.  
The claws and fangs had already made it through his aura and craved new scars into his limbs and torso as Arthred used his might to slam the head of the beowolf biting his left arm against the cracked wall. The intact lights Arthred was able to spot flickered from the impact and there was the light crumbling crash of a portion of the wall. The Grimm fell away and with an enraged growl, Arthred braced him himself to bring forth the worst of his curses, also head butting another beowolf that missed taking a chunk out of his neck. However there was an electric snap and crackle from where he had introduced the beowolf’s head to the wall. Through the Grimm clawing him, Arthred spotted Taiyang and Oobleck fighting frantically, as though they were trying to save him.  
His eyes widened with confusion, Arthred changed tactics, instead opting for a more risky plan. He slammed his gauntlet into the hole in the wall, digging the claws in blindly towards the source of the one sound besides snarls and battle. He found it not a moment too soon, tugging at the wires recklessly as the the Grimm he headbutted came for another go.  
The lights in the room died as Arthred’s semblance gulped up every last shred of electricity left in the building. The Grimm unfortunate to have fangs or claws embedded in the dark fighter’s flesh were nothing but ashes as Arthred multiplied the charge he absorbed as many times as he could, supercharging everything and surpassing his max capacity. The beowolf going for Arthred’s neck was knocked back with a stronger headbutt reinforced by his fully recovered aura. With his speed, reactions and reflexes charged up, Arthred was on his feet and had his claws in the Grimm’s throat before the force of the headbutt had dissipated. With his feeding off the energy of his Semblance, the taint spread and enhanced Arthred’s strength, it only took as twist of his wrist to rip the Grimm’s head off almost entirely. There was little need to watch concern himself with the Grimm behind him, as the surplus electricity from his semblance blasted out of his back in large electric tendrils as though he had wings of electric lightning. Now, as the pain from his injuries was starting to subside as they healed, Arthred was intent on letting the monster he was out.  
Now his speed matched Oobleck’s, hell the Doctor even appeared to be slower now, the overcharged fighter’s boots skid across the floor as he sped to reclaim Bliztscream. The moment the blade was in his hands, Arthred flooded the weapon with power, fully charging it, allowing him to activate the blade’s thunderstrike form. Light flared angrily from the unstable crystal as Bliztscream’s high frequency vibration form activated.  
“For there is no escape, no salvation, no safety. In the name of the storms of Earth, Water and Air, I shall earn my place in the afterend.”  
The light screams of Bliztscream, that came from two small grooves on both sides of the blade, before were nothing compared to the fully charged blade’s shriek. It spun in utter carnage, slicing through flesh, bone and floor like a burning blade through butter. Arthred had to consciously tighten his grip to avoid losing his sword again as it all but flew through Grimm in its screaming havoc. Barely any time passed before Arthred had butchered the Grimm between him and the hunters.  
Now Arthred felt truly conflicted. Before, he'd been able to ignore his doubts, the knowledge that what he was doing was unjustifiable in any light save the most evil. He was already damned and there was no escaping the inevitable tide of Grimm and screams for anyone. However, now he was facing two good men, people who had fought beside him however briefly, who had even been trying to save him. Arthred couldn't understand, it was all but impossible for him to be worth anything to anyone but the Other. But there they were.  
That conflict, stopped Arthred from completely going berserk, from bungee jumping into the ocean of maddened bloodlust and havoc. His one refuge where he felt unbroken. Where he could revel in tearing apart the monsters that had played such a role in making him the monster he was.  
But he still needed the Gorgon alive, he had to succeed in Salem’s task. Arthred knew the one he was seeking had gone to the witch. He had to be with her. She, the first person he had come across after emerging from hell.  
Oobleck attacked during Arthred’s moment of hesitation, but to the fully charged proto-berserker, the Doctor now appeared far slower, and the crimson glow of the tribal-like marks of the taint spreading across his face.  
The Proto-berserker caught the brawler’s punch. Even with the power of the taint, the punch was strong enough to send a painful shockwave up Arthred’s arm, a pain which he returned in full by shocking Taiyang and nailing him in the chest with the flat of Bliztscream’s blade. Winded, Taiyang broke free and fell back.  
“Thus the evil that was once vanquished shall rise anew. And Terror shall consume, feed and dwell upon the earth.”  
Hearing something behind him Arthred spun and slashed a flaming rock out the air. Oobleck hit more projectiles towards the Proto-berserker. Scowling and dealing with the ranged attacks Arthred switched Bliztscream back to its thunderclap form, returning two shots before using the railgun to blast himself at the Doctor. Oobleck seemed to realize he couldn't hope to keep distance between himself and Arthred, avoiding the Proto-berserker's landing strike and countering with a flurry of blows. Arthred opted to let them hit and returned one of his own. Oobleck dodged but his footing was weakened by a stray rock, giving Arthred an opening for a single moment. He abused it, bringing his sword screaming down in an overhead slash that Oobleck was forced to block with his weapon. If Bliztscream hadn’t been full charged, the Doctor would have been fine, only his weapon would have suffered major damage from the greatsword’s weight. Unfortunately for Oobleck, Bliztscream was fully operational, and because of that, Arthred had made sure to make his strike as shallow as he could. The blade slashed completely through Oobleck’s thermos, cutting it in half and cutting in down across Oobleck’s chest. It was enough to penetrate his aura, shortening his tie as blood welled from the wound, dying his white and light brown with crimson. Though the cut itself was shallow, an electric jolt zapped Oobleck into a wall.  
“Bart!” Taiyang screamed. The brawler raced past Arthred, avoiding the area affected by his electric discharge and ignoring the Proto-berserker and going to the aid of his downed friend.  
The fact that Taiyang had completely discarded a golden opportunity utterly stunned Arthred. He couldn't fathom it, there so much he couldn't understand. As he stood there, dazed, a sound drew him back to reality.  
“Shikashikashaikashika-”  
A certain presence reappeared close by, drawing Arthred back to reality. There was the sound of metal slamming off something violently behind the Proto-berserker. He whirled to face the reemerged threat, slashing Bliztscream through the spinning scrap metal shield, cutting it in half. From the shadows of a nearby pillar, the Weeping Gorgon launched herself in a staggering charge at Taiyang, catching him unaware.  
“Don't look! You're mine. Mine alone!” She shrieked desperately. Her jagged scrap spear was poised to take Taiyang’s head.  
“Clever girl.” Arthred growled.  
If Salem hadn't stated she wanted the Gorgon alive, Arthred could have easily ended the monster’s suffering and he almost did. He was envious of the Gorgon that she had the chance to know the mercy of oblivion.  
He made his choice, his way. Though her attack was abrupt, the Grimmspawn was still heavily slowed by her injuries, meanwhile, though slowly losing power, Arthred was still overcharged. It also help that there were no Grimm between himself and his target, though the second wave was coming. Changing his grip on Bliztscream, Arthred caught the Gorgon's spear in his hand and slammed his sword’s hilt into her chest, hitting her around the same spot where he’d heard the crunch before. The Grimmspawn coughed out a blood-like black liquid. Though her aura had recovered, it was clear that it was only enough for her to move as it broke easily and she was knocked across the hall. Her spear remained in his grip, and with a surge of might, he broke the scrap iron weapon.  
Taiyang let out a relieved sigh as the the shards fell to the ground. “I'm glad a trusted my gut on you.”  
The hunter’s statement caught both Arthred and Oobleck entirely by surprise.  
“What?! Tai, did really just-” Arthred tuned out whatever else Oobleck said to Taiyang as he noticed the Gorgon wasn’t done. From where she had landed, the Grimmspawn futilely attempted to push herself back up, refusing to give up.  
“Tsk” Arthred reflected on his earlier statement on the monster. “Not clever enough to live.” He closed the distance between himself and his target, drawing the electric power out of Bliztscream and channeling the remaining surplus charge into his left arm. Wild sparks of pale electric blue lightning lashed out from his gauntlet, casting twisted shadows that threatened to play on Arthred nightmares.  
“Shik-" The Gorgon's tail rattled weakly as with shaking arms she tried to get on her knees. “Do-AAHHHH!" Her hiss became a shriek as Arthred blasted her with lightning powerful enough to knock the strongest man unconscious.  
“Shut up and stay down. Shutupshutupshutup shut up!” Arthred screamed at the shrieking creature, her scream was far too human, hitting her again with a stronger lightning as she still remain conscious. He half screaming at her and half at the reinvigorated chorus in his head, growing ever louder as a new scream joined their ranks.  
“Arthred!” Taiyang’s voice cut through the growing screams in the Proto-berserker’s head. Through his panicked breathing he cut off the lightning, the stench of burnt flesh mixed with the smell of excited ozone and the Gorgon now lay silent and motionless.  
“Shit!” Arthred cursed, discharging the last of the excess energy and stabbing Bliztscream into the ground. He dropped down on one knee, checking on the Grimmspawn. “ Breath, breath, breath damn you.” Once again he was cursing both the creature and himself as he tried to get his panicked breathing back on. She had to be alive Arthred told himself, the only thing Salem had said concerning the creature is that she wanted it alive. The witch hadn't said that the creature had to be unharmed.  
The Gorgon didn’t show any signs of disintegrating like other vanquished Grimm. Smoke was coming off her body, but it was from the lightning. Arthred rolled the Grimmspawn over. A small puddle of black blood had formed from the drips from her mouth. On her mask were a pair of scorched lines across her left most eye sockets. There were further electric scorch marks across the white bone portions with varying degrees of severity. But there was movement, slight but there, the Gorgon's chest moved in shallow bit steady breaths.  
Behind him, Arthred noticed Taiyang had approached him. The hunter had not taken a fighting stance but was instead just standing there, looking at the Proto-berserker. Arthred stood up and retrieved Bliztscream, ready to get back into the fight.  
Taiyang simply looked at him with sad eyes. “It's not too late Arthred, no one is forcing you down this road.”  
Arthred’s eyes widened. “What?” He said incredulously. The man had stopped him from accidentally killing the Weeping Gorgon, what the hell was Taiyang playing at? This had to be some strange trick or something… It had to be. “What the…. Are you?” Arthred raised Bliztscream, its point aimed at the hunter.  
Taiyang however kept looking at him with those calm sad eyes. “You could have let that monster kill us and Glynda, you could have shot me instead of that warning. Heck, you could have easily killed Bart. You are not an evil person Arthred.”  
“You have no idea what I am…..” Arthred hissed half-heartedly. Taiyang was right though, he could have done all those things, yet he had not. Deep in the crypt of Arthred's mind, his conscience found its voice weak and desperate, but still there. It begged him to listen, that there had to be another way and go with the hunters. The foolish naive part of him seemed to think there was hope. That he could live a normal life and be freed from his curses. Bliztscream felt heavy in his hands as Arthred’s will faltered.  
“I may not know you, but going by what I see, I at the very least see someone who needs help.” Looking at Taiyang’s eyes, in the sadness the Proto-berserker saw a weariness, like that of an old man who had seen a similar story play out before. “End that creature’s misery. Please, let me, let us help you.”  
Arthred didn't know what to do. His shaking sword arm dropped and Bliztscream’s point hit the floor. The Proto-berserker blinked away tears attempting to form in his eyes as he pulled his hood back up to cover his face, even as the marks of the taint across the right side of his face still cast their bloody glow. He asked a simple question barely louder than a quavering whisper. “Why?” It was the only word he could utter, but it was tied to some painful questions. Why do this after he had betrayed them? Why risk so much believing in him? Why was Taiyang trying so hard to save something like him? Why him? Why now?  
Taiyang answered without hesitating, as though it was completely natural. “Why wouldn’t I? Everyone should do everything they can to save those in trouble. I couldn’t call myself a hunter or a father if I didn’t at least try.” He held up a hand to Arthred.  
The Proto-berserker stood motionless, as conflicting washed over him. His conscience pleading that it didn't have to be too late. The Other radiating amusement at the situation and Taiyang’s naivete. Envy that the monster he had come for was guaranteed oblivion while he was damned. Despair that no matter what he did, he could never escape the Other or the hell that was waiting.  
A choked gasping sob escaped Arthred’s mouth before it warped and turned into bitter broken laughter. He gripped his head with his left hand, in a futile attempt at holding his broken sport within, but it was to no avail. It was the same laugh had escaped him every time he’d broken in the depths, and every time the Other had painful put him back together. All around them Arthred could feel Grimm closing in. Big, small, massive. Numbers beyond counting. A relentless hunger that could never be sated. It was only a matter of time before the ravenous flood of teeth and claws broke into each of the gilded cages called kingdoms. Just like his home. And just like his home, there would be nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.  
This time though, the Other didn’t have to intervene, as Arthred pulled back from the ocean of madness and choked off the laugh with a warped sob, dropping his hand f4om his face, the claws of his gauntlet red from the cuts they'd inflicted. “You’re too many godsdamned years too late.” Arthred spat, his voice was filled with self-loathing, pain, hate and despair as he silenced his conscience once more and shoved it back down. He honestly didn’t know how long he had spent trapped beneath the earth, never seeing the light of day or the glow of the moon. Grabbing at the necklace of trophies, teeth, claws, horn and weapon fragments, that he kept hidden almost all the time, Arthred retrieved a small whistle inscribed with an eye symbol.  
Dismayed horror and saddened determination clear on his face, Taiyang lowered his outstretched hand, and made ready to attempt to fight the Proto-berserker, but Arthred forced the power of his silver eyes to flare threatening. The huntsman froze as the silver light mixed with the red glow of the taint to create an ominous blood moon color. The Proto-berserker didn't unleash the power, not yet. All around, dust and rubble began to quake and fall as the Grimm nearby began stampede towards the hall.  
“Run” Arthred hissed, bringing the grimmbone whistle to his lips and raising Bliztscream up, charging it up for a single shot. Run, and save those who are worth saving, he said silently. Too late Taiyang realized what Arthred was doing and shook off the caution of facing the power of the silver eyes, but as he managed a single step the Proto-berserker blew the whistle and fired his railgun at a weakened portion of the roof, blasting a hole and making it collapse. It made a wall of rubble between the two monsters and the hunters. It wouldn’t take long for Taiyang to get through, but time was something that was running out all too fast. Meanwhile, the whistle in Arthred’s hand shattered, its singular use expended. Through a hole, Arthred spotted Oobleck frantically grabbing Taiyang’s shoulder, even as the blonde brawler still hesitated to leave.  
“Run damn you!” Arthred shouted at the hunters before turning away, in part to hide the single tear trailing down his face. If they ran, they would likely live as the Grimm were coming for him. Sheathing Bliztscream, Arthred picked up the unconscious Grimmspawn. Amidst the approaching roars of the frenzied Grimm, he could hear the approaching howl of Nemesis as the geist bound to the bike followed the whistle’s call. Grabbing a remaining intact curtain, the Proto-berserker wrapped up the Grimmspawn, as he felt sympathy enough to at least allow the creature some measure of cover.  
With Nemesis’ arrival, Arthred utter the last words of the black prayer and secured the Gorgon and made his escape.  
“For when the last fall so shall the promise to Albion at last be fulfilled. So shall it be.”  
XXX  
As the image faded from the seer’s fishbowl of a head, Salem rose to her feet and went to one of the windows with here great hall that overlooked her domain. She allowed herself a moment. Ironic that a man with a name such as Lionheart was such a gutless coward. She already had a perfect idea of how she would dispose of the parasite. Her dear Ozpin had clearly not lost his eye for making the worst choices. She smiled for yet another opening Ozpin had given her through his countless mistakes. That smile disappeared though as she remembered the oldest and greatest of them.  
Even after untold millennia…. With but a blink of her eyes, Salem pushed that thought and the memories and feelings attached to it back to whence it had come. Lately that particular nuisance had been more active as of late. The witch was certain that it was linked to the bargain she had struck with Summer Rose. Learning of Ruby Rose had been at of little interest at first, but from Emerald description Salem had noticed something strange. That the girl had survived Salem’s gift was of little surprise or interest. What was interesting however, was the fact that the child Emerald described has sounded so naive and innocent, almost as though she had never suffered a nightmare or loss. It was strange, for even if the seed Salem had planted to save the girl had completely been absorbed, the girl should not been so purehearted. And Tyrian had stated as much, between cursing the girl of course.  
The seer upon the table signaled there were arrivals entering her home. Salem set aside the subject of Ruby Rose for the time, she already had a few ideas in mind. Now she focused on another project, an experiment if anything. Looking back to the Grimm’s head, Salem summoned the images of her guests. The first two were hardly surprising for Salem, as the task she had given them had been quite simple, especially compared the the third arrival.  
“Show Arthred in.” Salem commanded. A few minutes later, the doors to the meeting hall opened, and the hooded boy strode in, carrying a limp form under his right arm like a full sack. His silver eyes glanced across the room before focusing on Salem.  
“Place it on the table.” She said, moving up towards the boy. Arthred silently put his charge on the table, not unkindly and stepped back.  
“I’ve brought her as you requested.”  
Salem brushed aside the ragged curtain covering the creature. It was clear that the creature was a she. In fact, she was one of the most beautiful Grimm Salem had seen. Were it not for the Grimm aspects upon the creature, Salem had little doubt she would have been a beautiful woman. It was remarkable how much the creature had taken the form of her “mother” Pyrrha Nikos. Though when Salem came across the injuries of the creature the witch scowled and glanced at Athred.  
“You requested her alive and intact, I made necessary adjustments.” He stated in his defense, rubbing his weary eyes.  
“So I saw.” Salem saw she would have to be more specific with her orders with this boy, but he had passed her test, though there were some concerns. Continuing her examination of the Weeping Gorgon, the witch questioned the boy. “Tell me, why did you allow those hunters to live?”  
Arthred hesitated, searching for an answer. “I.... They, they helped me and I had them beaten with more Grimm closing in. They were not a threat.”  
“Then, but in allowing them to live you let them prepare for the next fight.”  
“And in the next fight I will be far less merciful.” He stated in a somber tone.  
Salem saw that Arthred appeared to share Hazel’s distaste for unnecessary violence, yet his fighting style indicated quite the opposite. To this she changed the subject, as his fighting and the markings she had spotted were almost the exact same as those of Albion’s lost berserkers and going by how his weapon had been made and his overall lack of fear, a berserker of terror.  
“Who was it that taught you how to fight? The methods and power you used are all but forgotten by most.”  
Arthred appeared uncomfortable at the question. “My… master.” At the dark fighter's attempt of ending the answer there Salem returned her gaze to him with dangerously narrowed eyes. Arthred swallowed and then uttered the name of his master. “...Vlad.”  
The room darkened and the air within all but stilled. Satisfied that the Gorgon was not in danger, Salem turned her complete attention towards the boy. “So, you wield Heavenmourne… Arthred kindly inform Vlad I wish to speak with him.”  
The boy looked panicked for a moment before doubling over in pain as his crimson aura suddenly flared unnaturally. He fell to his knees and let out a gagged cry of pain before slumping over, and vanishing from Salem’s sight as a loud and violent thunderclap sounded overhead. There was the sound of wind ripping past the windows to the hall as the glass struggled to hold the elements at bay.  
“It’s been least a millennia now, hasn’t it, Asylum?” Arthred’s voice was now twisted and warped as though a thunderstorm was using him to speak.  
Salem turned to where the boy was staring out the window into the storm that had appeared. The name that he had used brought up unpleasant emotions and memories for her. “Longer, Vlad. That name is dead, don't use it again.”  
“Don’t play with me A- Salem. I forgot you had bad memories with that name.” Vlad corrected himself mockingly, not even bothering to turn to face her. “I've had so much time with Gilgamesh that even if I didn't know your handiwork.” As he spoke Vlad turned, gripping the air as he summoned Heavenmourne a massive hand and a half endsinger sword with blood crimson runes carved into the bleach white grimbone blade so long that its point impaled itself into the floor while the top of the sword’s grip was level with the “boy’s” chin. “I really don’t care what you think of Boudica or Attila, but don’t insult me.”  
Salem cursed herself for that oversight. The three endsingers of the gods were unique in that they trapped the souls of their victims and wielders with the monsters within. Undoubtedly the other two were very aware of her involvement in their downfall. Aware that she wasn’t safe, but confident nonetheless, Salem tested the waters. At the very least, Vlad was the most reasoning of the three.  
“Then I’ll cut to the heart of the matter. Your vessel, he shows promise yet his performance at the ruins was rather odd. Would you care to share some light on that?”  
“A side effect of an indulgence of mine in putting him back together again, nothing more, though I will be addressing his screw ups the next time he sleeps.”  
“He seems to be rather incomplete, especially compared to your legacy.”  
“If by ‘my legacy’ you mean the berserkers, then yes, he is certainly among the weakest of them, but I couldn’t really afford to be picky when I salvaged him, and no other options have arisen yet. As for his completion, I know you hold a key, and I know your price.” His tone of voice became irritated and Salem could tell that Vlad had no intention of submitting himself to her will. That left the question of the boy as well as how he thought to complete him.  
“I see. What do you intend, Vlad?”  
The being looked at her properly, allowing the witch to see his vessel’s face. His silver eyes were now dyed with red, like a pair of blood moons. His pupils changed to look like three armed hurricanes . Across his scared face, the crimson marks of the taint had spread, with black veins creeping out beneath them. “For the moment, figuring out how to get this or another body to become a proper vessel. If you’re worried about me holding a grudge, don’t. I’ve had plenty of time to cope, and of course there is the benefit of hindsight.”  
Salem raised an eyebrow at Vlad. The Albionea God of Terror had never been the forgiving type, even when he had been bloated and complacent at the time of the rise of the Khans. “You’ve changed, Vlad.”  
“It would be strange if I did not after all this time trapped and used. However, as for grudges, you merely have the benefit of not being my priority.” Vlad shrugged and looked at Heavenmourne with mixture of amusement and animosity before returning the weapon to its dimensional sheath. “That and I will admit that it's been an interesting and sometimes entertaining, even if this situation has long since gotten old.”  
This peaked Salem’s interest. Despite his knowledge of her involvement in his and the other Albionea gods’ downfall, she wasn’t his priority? Vlad grinned as though sensing Salem’s confusion.  
“You really didn’t know.” He laughed, the thunder of the storm summoned by his presence crackling with him. “Albion endures.”  
Any anger Salem felt was immediately brushed aside by Vlad’s revelation. “What? How is that possible?”  
“You of all remaining people should know that damned city nor its inhabitants are so easy to destroy. Not to mention myself and my two... companions were distracted by our hunger after a millenia without flesh.” Vlad referred to the other two with distaste. It was useful for Salem to know that there was still no love lost between the three gods. “Now that I’ve told you something interesting, care to return the favor? Tell me, what has become of your dear beloved Ozymandias in this age? It was rather strange his curse allowed him to die so easily.”  
Salem composed herself once more. “The traitor goes by a different name now and endures a different sort of immortality.” She didn’t say anymore on the subject, instead steering the conversation back to the main subject. “Am I wrong in assuming I may use Arthred?”  
Vlad snorted, one of the scars on his face began to leak blood, a sign of the god’s power slowly starting to tear Arthred’s body apart. “The only thing I care about is making sure he keeps himself alive, I don’t care what he does with what little power he can use. Use him as you see fit.” He brushed the bleeding scars and looked at the blood. “It seems time is running short on this reunion. Before I go, though, there is something you should know.” Vlad’s eyes narrowed. “I may have invested some effort into him, but Arthred is disposable.”  
Salem eyes met the god’s. “Should I take that as a threat, or a promise?”  
Vlad smirked. “Merely a fact. But if you want a promise, giving me cause to discard the boy guarantees you my complete attention, one way or another, Salem.”  
In other words, if she did anything to harm or bind Vlad through the boy, the dragon would be after her. Simple enough, however Salem wanted an assurance “Do I have your word that you'll do nothing to impede me otherwise, Vlad?”  
“Such skeptical times we live in…” Vlad changed to an old tongue, near as old as the world itself. “I swear I shall do nothing to impede you so long as you do naught to me, Salem.” He switched back to the common tongue. “Now give me Ozymandias’ new name.”  
For a brief instant, Salem considered doing no such thing. She remembered how long it had taken Ozymandias to die the first time, if Vlad found him even Hazel would be horrified by what that dragon would do. But then everything else he had done, whether in the name of peace, man, or survival smothered that idea.  
“Ozpin."  
Arthred’s aura flared once again as Vlad returned control to the boy with a cruel chuckle. Arthred stumbled and caught himself on the table, blood dripping onto its dark surface as the boy’s aura repaired the damage Vlad’s presence had caused. Outside the violent weather began to weaken and dissipate as the storm’s source had vanished.  
Salem walked over to her throne and retrieved a small chest. The talk with Vlad had proved far more enlightening than she had expected, That Albion endured had been quite the shock, but there was little to be done as the island was still contained within the Cursed Storm, and would be until the true return of the Three. More so, however observant Vlad was, there was something that had escaped him. The endsingers of the three could not be wielded by anyone. If they were weak, the weapon’s power would consume them the second they attempted to wield it. The original endsingers also caused a sort of spiritual meld between the monsters within and the wielders, meaning that through the blade, Vlad was making his vessel like the Khans that had wielded it. That, and Arthred had convinced her to allow him a favor, in the form of binding a geist to his bike and allowing him a method of calling it once. And to say nothing of the potential of having her own silver eyed warrior, particularly one touched by the taint. Those factors sealed her choice. Salem turned to the boy.  
“You heard what Vlad said, yes?”  
The boy met her gaze. “Yes.” He said heavily.  
“And you understand that there is no turning back on this road?” While Salem would have happily bound him to her without consent, it was not her way to force or coerce people into her service. Not even Lionheart, who like all before, had come to her. No, that was very much Ozpin’s specialty.  
There was a moment of hesitation and his eyes drifted downward before returning to Salem’s and Arthred answered quietly. “Yes.”  
Salem opened the chest and took the foremost of the nine objects within and put the chest down on the table. She stood before the boy. “Then kneel.”  
Silently, the Proto-berserker knelt. Salem offered up the object she had taken in the palm of her cold white hand. A simple ring of enchanted grimmbone, a little innocent thing, plain and unadorned save for inscriptions in a cursed and heretical tongue and her mark. “All you need do is take it. Do so, and once your service is done, I shall grant you your greatest wish.”  
Lowering his head, his hood hiding most of his face, as though considering, Arthred removed the glove on his right hand, revealing the pale flesh marked with red almost tribal markings that spread up his arm from the other ring on his ring finger. Part of Heavenmourne, it marked the wielder being bound to the weapon and vice versa. In a whisper, filled with a dreadful hope, Arthred spoke his wish and took the ring.  
Salem considered it. It was no simple thing that the boy asked considering his situation, and honestly she had expected him to wish for something else, or rather for a certain someone else. “Serve me well, and you shall have it.” Was all Salem said.  
In answer, Arthred raised the ring to his fingers, opting to place it on his index finger. “What's one more curse.”  
As it slipped into place, the ring shrank so it could not be removed. Arthred twinged in pain as the enchantment dug into his nervous system.  
“Think of it what you will, Arthred. Now rise, my knight, the first of my Naz’Grimm.” That title Salem took from the the nine lieutenants of the three Khans of Albion. Their legacy would be all the more destructive, even without the power of Albion’s taint or true berserkers, because the kingdom's had chosen to forget their fears. Her nine would serve as commanders, warriors and assassins to aid her inner circle and counter what hunters would remain in the coming war. As for the rings, they gave little more than a measure of domination over some Grimm, would make the monsters see the nine as their own. They also ensured that if, for whatever reason, any of the nine decided to betray her, they would be entirely at her whim.  
Salem turned as Arthred rose to his feet, a look of astonishment clear on his face. “First, I don’t- what?”  
From what she had witnessed at Beacon and now knowing of Vlad’s involvement, Salem knew exactly how to use the boy. The hunters had likely been among the first to treat Arthred well in years, though she was aware of one other. This was both a weakness and an undeniable advantage for her to gain his loyalty. As for the other she was aware of, Salem would have little trouble in keeping Arthred and the person he was truly here for separate for the time. Of course, that alone wasn’t why she was making him leader. Arthred had shown, rough as it was, an understanding of tactics and strategy. How much of that was due to Vlad’s influence, she could not say, but she did know that it would grow, though only with some guidance.  
“I see far more than Vlad would have you believe, and in you I see more than simply his vessel.” Salem picked up the chest of rings and gestured to the seer where it lay. “Bring them in.” Of the nine, Arthred had brought one, and Salem had sent another two on tasks of their own to invite the remaining candidates to her. To Arthred she said. “ Come, you’ve met one of the nine in the Gorgon, it's time you met Grimmrock, Last Son of Mesozoiclan and Harlequin Moriarty.”  
Arthred cast an uncertain glance at the Gorgon on the table before following after Salem to meet those he would command. “Yes, my Lord.”  
XXX  
Bonus bit as I did promise Grimmonic corruption.  
To music that only she could hear, Obsidian danced with a string-less puppet dragging the limp thing along with her steps. She imagined it being the new boy that her lovely twin sister had met. The blonde was nice and all, but he was already breaking in small ways. It wasn’t much fun to imagine breaking something that was already broken. That was certainly one more thing she could hate Cinder Fall for.  
Bored, Obsidian let the puppet fall to the floor, dissolving into nothingness. That was yet that Obsidian hated about the prison she had known all her life. Almost nothing was truly her’s. She had no toys, no clothes, no room, no form of her own. Not even her emotions were entirely her own. It made sense, in a very aggravating way. All she had were hand-me-downs from her sister, that was almost all she was for now. That was her curse.  
Obsidian barely went anywhere before she came upon the barriers of her prison. Beyond she could see a whirling swirl of emotions and sights, all floating through a serine forest in the form of clouds of rose petals. Truly this was the cruelest of prisons, being able to witness the entirety of her life through the eyes and actions of another. All for the crime of being created. It was enough to drive Obisidian mad, hell, she wasn’t sure if she was still sane or if she had ever been sane. It wasn’t like she could ask anyone. Not even her dear loved sister knew she even existed!  
With hands she could not call her own, Obsidian clawed at the invisible barrier. An exercise in futility of course, but she had little else to attack, maim or otherwise lash out at. It didn't take long before she stopped, bored with the act and longing for the days when she would truly feel the air, water and blood on her skin, tasting the lips or blood or both of another. With a cry of maddened or natural frustration, no way to be sure after all, Obsidian turned away and decided to take a look at what she would look like if she ever escaped. By her will a mirror from one of her sister’s memories appeared before her. Her physical form was simple enough, the pale white skin, the black hair with dark red at the tips. The only real differences that marked Obsidian from her sister were her eyes, crimson staining into the silver, cold malice where her sister’s eyes were warm kind and sickeningly sweet, and the black veins that spread across her body. As for the clothes, Obsidian always had trouble figuring it out. By far the easiest was the cloak, but she always had trouble figuring out the exact details. The red was always difficult, in some places the pure red was stained darker and in others chaotic lines of black clawed their way across the fabric. As for the rest of her outfit, well… She knew she wanted something different yet elegant, that cut out at least three people her sister knew. Yet when she tried the outfits similar to little miss princess perfect, saying nothing that they were tight around the chest, they never worked. None of them really did. Once again, Obsidian found herself going for the dress her sister had worn at the dance, though again she fussed over….  
The mental world beyond her prison shuddered and quaked, a sign that her sister was having yet another nightmare.  
“Oh what pile of crap are you going to drop on me now, oh loving Rose?!” Obsidian howled pointlessly to the dark “sky” above. No matter how bad her sister’s nightmares were, Obsidian was going to get the worst of it, that was another part of the curse. Her lovely precious sister got all the love and protection, meanwhile the worst of the bad was swept away to Obsidian to deal with. All the terror, the anger, the anguish, the loneliness, the lust for blood or otherwise, all of that was for her and her alone. No one, not even her mother, not the one her sister remembered, cared or knew of her.  
“What will it be this time? Mommy leaving us? Your friends leaving you? Cinder taking more? The Grimm? That girl’s death?” Obsidian shouted as her power began to leak out. “I hate it! I hate this! I hate you! I hate it all! I hate it I hate it I hate it!” She raged as the storm and the horrors within came closer. All the while dark and cruel vines grew around her with sharp, jagged and twisted thorns. She wasn’t worried, if anything those thorns were the closest thing to what she was that she was every going to get, trapped within her sister’s mind, heart and soul.  
Bracing for the inevitable, with tears running down her face, Obsidian whispered. “You’d best hope I never find a way out…..” She could only imagine the nightmares she’d make Ruby suffer. And such a time could not come soon enough.


End file.
